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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25284097">In the Absence of a King</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/itallends/pseuds/itallends'>itallends</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Romance, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Modern Royalty, Spoilt Laurent, aleron is a neglectful father, hence the daddy issues, laurent has daddy issues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:42:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>82,106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25284097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/itallends/pseuds/itallends</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When faced with the prospect of a marriage he doesn't want just yet, Laurent does the only, logical thing he can think of: he pretends that he is already in a relationship with Damianos, the King of Akielos.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince), mentions of laurent/others</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>869</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>997</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Plan.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is very self indulgent lol. thank you for reading anyway &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="">
    <p>“— I promise to love and respect you always.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Hmm?” Laurent turned from the view of the lake and saw that Torveld was down on one knee, with a velvet box in his hand. There was a ring in it — a ghastly one, with only <em>one</em> diamond. Honestly. Laurent frowned. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. What the fuck are you doing?”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Er —” Torveld seemed to have trouble balancing himself. He was also getting very red. “I’m proposing?”</p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You don’t sound so sure.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m proposing,” Torveld repeated firmly. To his credit, he did sound much more confident. Unfortunately, it was undermined by the sweat on his forehead and his shifting eyes.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh,” Laurent said. He paused. “Why?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Why?” Torveld repeated, incredulous. “Because — For all the reasons I just said! Love and respect and — and status!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent stared down at him. “This is the third time we’ve spoken. And I don’t think the first time counts since you threw up in the middle of our conversation.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I told you I had a <em>stomach bug</em>,” Torveld hissed. He looked mortified, and in the distance, Laurent could see Jord and Lazar muffling their laughter.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent grimaced in an attempt to mask his own unbidden smile. The memory of that first encounter haunted him, but it was undeniably hilarious — objectively, of course.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Torveld watched his face and wilted. “You’re not going to say yes, are you?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent tried to look a little compassionate. It only made Torveld frown, so Laurent suspected he had failed horribly. “I’m afraid not,” he said.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Torveld stood up and pocketed the box. He looked very put out.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m sorry,” Laurent said, because it seemed like the right thing to say. Then he ruined it by asking: “How much did my father pay you?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Torveld went very still. “Um.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Come on,” Laurent chided. “You’re the sixth person to propose to me this month. I know what Al is like.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Torveld cleared his throat, then muttered a figure under his breath.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent’s eyebrows rose and his stomach dropped; it seemed the King really was serious about marrying Laurent off as soon as he turned twenty one.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And really, Laurent wasn’t <em>opposed</em> to the idea of marriage, not at all. In fact, getting married to a man with a large cock and an even larger fortune was one of his top ten dreams. But that didn’t mean he wanted to do it <em>now.</em> He liked having freedom; most of his days were spent reading, gathering gossip on various Lords, and getting fucked by foreign, dashing men. And if Vere was short on foreign, dashing men, then Laurent had his guardsmen to keep him company in bed. There was a reason Lazar had extended his contract for another five years, after all.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It just infuriated Laurent that Al was doing this behind his back: setting him up on frivolous excursions with men who were low enough in rank to be appeased with marrying a second son.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It also made Laurent feel more unwanted than usual — but <em>that</em> thought was going to stay firmly lodged into his brain until his death.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Looking at Torveld now, Laurent realised that Al would not stop here. No doubt he had more men lined up for Laurent to meet. Perhaps he was waiting until Laurent got so tired of it, he would say yes to the next man who walked into the Palace.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Like <em>hell </em>that was going to happen.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent knew he had to do something to stop it right now. He assessed Torveld, trying to think. He knew the man was a notorious gossiper — to the point where his own brother, the Crown Prince, had barred him from Council meetings because he ended up spilling everything to anyone who would listen.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>So, Laurent said the one, plausible thing he could think of. “I’m sure you know <em>why </em>I had to say no, of course.” He kept his tone coy.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Torveld immediately piqued, curious. “No, why?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent bit his lip, pretending to survey the area around them for any potential eavesdroppers. He leaned in close. “I’m seeing someone. It’s <em>very </em>serious, but we’ve had to keep it lowkey in case Al tries to break us up.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Torveld’s eyebrows rose. “<em>Really</em>? Is he —” He lowered his voice. “A commoner?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent’s nose scrunched. Ha! As if he’d succumb himself to <em>that</em>. No, <em>obviously</em>, Laurent’s imaginary lover would be amazing, respected by all, tall, hot as fuck, powerful, in touch with all the latest trends, and fantastic in bed. Someone so admirable and high in rank, that even Al would be impressed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent said the first name that sprung to his mind. “It’s Damianos.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Granted, the only reason Laurent had even thought of him was because Al had mentioned him during breakfast. Something about how high Akielon taxes were and blah blah blah — as if Laurent <em>cared</em>. But, a man like Damianos did fit a majority of the aforementioned traits. Although, Laurent had no way of knowing whether being fantastic in bed was one of them.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Torveld looked suitably shocked. “The King of Akielos?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent smiled, smug. “The very same.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Torveld was awed by the news. Then, he frowned. “But why would your father want to break you up? I thought he wanted a formal, political relationship with Akielos. A marriage seems like a good alliance.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Uh,” Laurent paused. He didn’t even know Al wanted that. Was that why he was always going to Akielos? He tried to search for an answer, and when he couldn’t find one, said, “Oh no, excuse me, I forgot I had an appointment with —” He hurried away before he had to think of something.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>*</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Al came into his room later that evening, after a substantial amount of knocking. He always knocked now — sometimes more times than what was strictly necessary; the last time he had barged into Laurent's room, unannounced, Laurent had been on all fours, in between two very well endowed brothers, noblemen from Vask.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Al hadn’t spoken to Laurent for four months after that. It was only when Auguste came back from college and made Laurent apologise to their father did he finally ease up.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As soon as he was inside, Al said, “Torveld tells me you rejected his proposal because you’re in a relationship with the King of Akielos.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent put his book down, face up, and swung his legs over the bed. “Good god, he really can’t keep a secret, can he?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Al ignored him, as he tended to do most of the time. “Well?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent said, “Yes, it’s true.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“When did this start?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“When did what start?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Al glared. “This <em>very serious relationship</em>, as Torveld put it.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They were still talking about that? Laurent made up a number. “Three years.” Oh no; that was too high of a number. “No! I mean, we’ve been talking for three years but uh — one year. We’ve been <em>together</em> for one year.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“How did this even happen?” Al said. “Damianos has not visited Vere since you were thirteen.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent remembered that trip; his first kiss had happened during one of the many balls they had hosted, with a girl from Akielos. Afterwards, Laurent had said, “Oh, I’m definitely gay.”, and she had spilled juice all over his lap.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It had been a fun night.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent said, “We started talking online.” That was plausible; and mentioning anything to do with technology would no doubt bore Al.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He was right; Al already looked like he was trying to wrap this up as fast as possible. “And he’s committed to you completely?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Sure, I guess.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Al looked thoughtful. “I assume he’s the one that’s been spending all that money on those ridiculous gifts that have been delivered to you over the last few months.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Of course!” Laurent said quickly. “As if <em>I’d</em> be irresponsible enough to buy myself a 1954 Ferrari! That was definitely Damianos.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent was seeing more and more perks to this plan. Maybe he could finally buy himself a retro Mercedes and blame it on Damianos, too.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Al’s face did something strange. Laurent sprung to his feet, concerned. “What is it? Are you having a heart attack?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Al’s face morphed into a scowl, which was much more familiar. “I was <em>smiling</em>,” he said, sharply.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh.” Laurent said. How the heck was he supposed to know that? Al never smiled at him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There was a small pause. Al said, “Is he open to the idea of marriage?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent almost rolled his eyes. He said, “I think so. But, he’s so busy running a country and what not, it’s never really come up.” He took a deep breath. “I suspect in a few years, we will be married.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He waited. And waited.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Finally, Al nodded. “See to it if you can convince him to get married sooner.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I will,” Laurent said. “In the meantime… you’ll stop setting me up all those Lords and noblemen?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Al watched him for a few beats. “Yes, I suppose so.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent grinned; this was better than anything he could have hoped for.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Don’t make that face,” Al snapped.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent frowned.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Al stood in his room for a moment. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then he just nodded once and left.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent immediately called Jord and Lazar into his room to celebrate.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>*</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Pretending to be in a relationship with the King of Akielos made Laurent’s life so much richer, it was a wonder why he hadn’t thought to do it sooner.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It was easy, too; all he had to do was occasionally smile dreamily into his phone, as though he had received the most thoughtful, wonderful love letter, and stare out the window. He also began leaving notes with the gifts he bought himself; Al didn’t say anything when a blue Mercedes showed up, because <em>Damianos</em> had given it, of course.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent could stay up all night playing video games and when he’d fall asleep during Council meetings the next morning, all he had to do was moan about the time difference between Akielos and Vere to be forgiven.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>People listened to him more, especially when Laurent began sentences with, “Well, <em>Damianos </em>said…” It was how Laurent convinced Al that he needed a new crown, one with more rubies this time.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent’s sex life also became much wilder; it seemed men became very turned on when they thought they were fucking the boyfriend of a King. One of them had even asked Laurent to call him ‘Your Majesty’ in bed, which Laurent liked well enough.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The best part of it was the fact that Al finally left him alone. He stopped pestering Laurent about his <em>princely duties</em> and stopped saying things like, <em>What would your mother think of you? </em>each time another man crept out of his room. In fact, sometimes Al even asked him about his day. It was truly bizarre stuff.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It should have been Laurent’s first clue that things would come crashing down, sooner rather than later.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>After three months of living indulgently, Al said over breakfast one day, “I thought you would be jumping for joy today.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Why’s that?” Laurent muttered into his toast. He had a horrid hangover, and his ass was sore.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Al frowned at him. “Sit straight,” he snapped.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent said, “I can only sit gay.” When that joke fell flat, he sat up, with great effort. Al was still staring at him, so he said, “What?” a little sharper than he intended to.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Al’s mouth thinned. “I sincerely hope you don’t misbehave like this around your beau. I shudder to think what the delegates would say.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“My<em> beau</em>?” Laurent said, face twisted. “Ugh, what century are you from?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Al was silent; a very bad sign. Laurent continued to butter his toast, hoping to be forgotten about for the rest of the day.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>That was not the case. Al decided to punish Laurent in the cruellest way; he was forced to attend <em>four</em> separate meetings with his father, and then attend a small, private dinner at Heston’s estate.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Halfway through the meal, Herode, one of the only people on the Council who could stand him said, “You must be very excited today, Your Highness.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent paused. “Why does everyone keep saying that?” After his father, three other Lords had approached him with the same words; Laurent had only smiled and nodded.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Now, he had a feeling that his father must have said it for a reason.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Herode smiled kindly; Laurent imagined it was a fatherly kind of smile, except he didn’t quite know, did he? “The Akielon King is going to be visiting Vere for the first time in eight years.” Herode’s expression grew sly. “I’m sure we can all guess as to <em>why</em> he’s suddenly interested in visiting.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Laurent dropped his knife. It made several heads turn; Laurent flushed and ducked his head. To Herode he said, “The Akielon — Damianos is coming? When?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Herode’s eyebrows met together in the middle. “You weren’t aware, Your Highness? It was confirmed last night; he should be here within a week.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A week! Laurent’s eyes widened. Had someone told Damianos about what Laurent was doing? Was that why he was suddenly coming to Vere — to beat him up? Oh god, his father was going to kill him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Thankfully, the panic on Laurent’s face was mistaken for something else. Herode said, “Oh! Did the King want to surprise you?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, he probably did,” Laurent said weakly. “He’s always doing that… surprising me.” He let out a weak chuckle.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I think that’s wonderful,” said Herode, and god, he really was the sweetest man ever. Why hadn’t he given birth to Laurent?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, wonderful,” Laurent agreed, stomaching sinking. He was so utterly <em>fucked</em> — and not in the good way.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Meeting.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Whenever Laurent was overwhelmed, or feeling the kind of loneliness even a good cock couldn’t cure, he would sneak off into the library in the north wing of the Palace, where most of his mother’s official portraits were displayed. </p><p>Laurent loved all of them; Hennike was smiling in every single one, blonde hair curled perfectly, and teeth a stunning white. The colouring of her gowns and crowns were so bright, even painted, they seemed to shine in the dullest light. Laurent didn’t really know her; she had died three days after giving birth to him, but he had watched so many interviews and home videos of her, he felt like he had. She had been beautiful, well spoken, and everyone had been shocked when she had fallen for Al, because she had been betrothed to someone else.</p><p>Laurent liked coming down here to talk to her. It helped to have her listen to his dramatic tirades. He had started doing it when he was thirteen, when Auguste had enlisted in military training and left him alone, but had stopped a few months later, when Al caught him, his face ashen as he’d watched his youngest son babble to his dead wife.</p><p>After that, Laurent made sure to only come down in the dead of night, when he was absolutely desperate. </p><p>Which was clearly now; Laurent’s head had been spinning since the dinner at Heston’s. Even dessert hadn’t cheered him up — Heston, the absolute <em>cretin</em>, had served only four options of dessert and not a single one had chocolate in them. Not even one! It was like people intentionally went out of their way to put Laurent in a foul mood. Laurent had already drafted a wordy letter about Heston’s appalling lack of class and hosting abilities on the way home, and he was going to send it to the local tabloid first thing in the morning.</p><p>Laurent paced around the library, addressing his favourite portrait of his mother. It was her wedding portrait, and he loved all the detailing in it. The blush pink flowers in her bouquet matched her lipstick and her blush, and the tiara she was wearing had 588 diamonds in it. It was called <em>The Laurent Tiara</em>, and when Laurent had found out it had been Hennike’s favourite crown, he’d cried into his pillowcase for an embarrassingly long time. </p><p>“If I tell Al the truth now, he’ll kill me,” Laurent wailed at an appropriately low volume; he was very considerate of the sleeping guards when he threw his tantrums. “Or worse — get me married! Oh god, he’ll set me up with that idiot Torveld and I’ll have to spend the rest of my life hearing about his coin collection. Who even uses cash anymore? And what exactly is the point of having money if you can’t use it? And has Al even considered the aesthetics of our coupling? How are we supposed to wear matching outfits if Torveld looks rubbish in Egyptian blue and azure? Hello! Those are my signature colours!” Laurent sunk down on the lumpy sofa and buried his head in his hands. “Maybe death really is the better option.” He looked up at Hennike’s blue eyes. “Is heaven overrated? Where would you personally place it on a scale of one to ten?”</p><p>She didn’t answer him, obviously. It was no use, anyway; Laurent was definitely not getting into heaven. </p><p>*</p><p>Laurent woke up irritated and unrested, and not for his usual, fun reasons. He hadn’t come up with any sort of solution to his dilemma and he had had a very strange dream where Damianos punched him while Al watched on. Then the scene had changed, and Laurent was on stage accepting his tenth Oscar for Best Actor, even though he had yet to star in any films.</p><p>“I’m thinking of becoming an actor,” Laurent told Al later that night during dinner. </p><p>Al’s eyes narrowed and his mouth became a sharp line. “What?”</p><p>“I mean, I have the looks, obviously. And really, how hard is acting anyway? Clearly you don’t even need to be very good at it to star in a movie — look at Channing Tatum. I’m sorry, but it’s very obvious his height was the only thing that got him into Hollywood, and even then it’s not <em>that</em> impressive.”</p><p>Al put down his knife and fork. “Can we —” He sounded very strained, “have a normal conversation <em>for once.</em>”</p><p>Laurent considered this. “I don’t think we’ve had enough conversations to statistically find out what constitutes a normal one,” he said. Al went red, so he continued, “So you don’t think acting is for me? Shall I try directing then? Or maybe —” He sat up excitedly in his chair. “I could <em>write</em> movies! I have so many ideas! Why, for instance, has no one considered a gay version of <em>The Princess Bride</em>? What would that even be called? <em>The Prince Groom</em>? Ugh, no, that’s terrible. Oh, who am I kidding — with my face and my body I have no choice <em>but</em> to be on camera. Otherwise, it’d be such a waste.”</p><p>The vein in Al’s forehead was throbbing. If he had been wearing his crown, it would have gone unnoticed, but like this, it was rather unflattering. </p><p>Al said, “Laurent,” in a sombre tone. “I really hope you’re joking.”</p><p>“About <em>The Prince Groom</em>? Kind of. But the acting thing — would it really be that bad?”</p><p>“You are a <em>prince</em>,” Al said, teeth clenched. “If it is the glam and glitz you want, you have more than enough here.”</p><p>Laurent, uncomfortably, thought of his room, the only place in the Palace that was truly his, devoid completely of personal artefacts. He swallowed. “Yes, well.” He tried a smile. “Maybe I should borrow another crown from the royal archives. I don’t think I’ve worn one with emeralds yet.” </p><p>Al resumed eating. “Speaking of crowns,” he said, completely glossing over Laurent’s last statement. “I’d like you to wear the Crown of Naos when King Damianos arrives.”</p><p>Laurent’s mouth dropped open. “As if! Al, the gold colouring on that completely washes me out! Not to mention the fact that that thing weighs like, five kilograms!”</p><p>Al’s nostrils flared at the word <em>Al</em>. He said, “The crown is a gift from Damianos’ great great grandfather to yours. It will be an appropriate and symbolic gesture if you wear it.”</p><p>“But why can’t you wear it? Or Auguste?” </p><p>“<em>I</em> am not the one having an affair with the King of Akielos,” said Al.</p><p>Oh, right. Laurent had forgotten about that. But what was the point? It wasn’t as though Damianos would recognise the gesture. If anything, he might think of it as inappropriate. </p><p>Instead he said, “Well, gee, Al, I didn’t peg you as a <em>romantic</em>.” Laurent fluttered his lashes a little. </p><p>Al pushed away his plate. “I’m done, thank you.” A servant immediately came to clear away his food.</p><p>Al left the dining hall, his shoulders tight. Laurent wished Auguste would hurry back home already. </p><p>*</p><p>In the morning, on the way back from the stables, Jord said, “Looks like your wish came true.”</p><p>Laurent stopped dead. “Oh my god — is Pierre-Alexis Dumas here? Is he finally going to collab with me?” </p><p>“Who’s Pierre-Alexis Dumas?” said Jord.</p><p>Laurent whirled on him. “Watch your fucking mouth.”</p><p>“Sorry.” Jord said, not sounding the slightest bit sorry. The audacity! “But look.” He pointed past Laurent, to the front of the Palace.</p><p>Laurent looked. There was a nondescript black limousine parked on the long, gravel pathway. Laurent would have dismissed it, if he didn’t spot sight of Jeurre, Auguste’s chauffeur, leant up against one of the doors, smoking.</p><p>Laurent gasped. He passed on his bridle to Jord, who fumbled to catch it, and ran inside. </p><p>Auguste and Al were in the Plate Room. Al was sitting on the large, velvet throne, a glass of whiskey in his hand. It wasn’t even noon! And he was baring his teeth in that weird way — smiling, as he called it.</p><p>Auguste was standing in front of him, hands behind his back. He had gotten very tan, and his hair was much darker, a strange golden colour that made the blue-green of his eyes more appealing.</p><p>They both turned when Laurent entered. Al’s mouth was already drooping at the sight of him, but Laurent only had eyes for his brother, whom he hadn’t seen in eight whole months. </p><p>Laurent wanted to hug him, which surprised even himself. Laurent was not a hugger. He wasn’t much of a toucher, either, unless it involved getting laid. </p><p>Auguste gave him a nod. He sometimes acted so much like Al, it disgusted Laurent; the only difference was that Auguste’s eyes were always kind. </p><p>Laurent peered at him closely, shocked. “What have you done to yourself? Are you having a mid-life crisis? Should we call Paschal for a yearly psych evaluation?”</p><p>Auguste laughed. “It’s a moustache, Laurent. It’s very fashionable in Kempt, you know.”</p><p>“It’s horrendous!” Laurent cried. He stared at the thick hair above Auguste’s top lip in horror. “Right. I’m officially ruling Kempt out as a holiday destination this summer if all the men are growing <em>that</em>.” </p><p>Al’s eyebrows furrowed. “I like it. It’s very refined.”</p><p>“Oh god, now we <em>have</em> to get rid of it,” said Laurent, which made Al frown and Auguste laugh. <br/> <br/>Auguste squeezed Laurent’s shoulder. He was always mindful of Laurent’s boundaries. “I think you’ve grown taller.”</p><p>“I haven’t,” Laurent said. He showed off his riding boots. “See? It’s three inches of heel.”</p><p>“Very impractical,” Al said under his breath, which was not a very Kingly thing to do.</p><p>Auguste was still smiling. “I like it. It matches the piping of your coat.”</p><p>“Yes, exactly!” Laurent was so happy in that moment, he leant forward and hugged Auguste. It was very short, but Auguste looked so pleased afterwards, Laurent wished he had prolonged it. </p><p>“Did you get me anything?” he asked, to cover the embarrassment following his sudden burst of affection.</p><p>Auguste raised an eyebrow. “I’m hurt, Laurent. You’re not going to ask me about my classes or my rather excellent Anthropology professor?”</p><p>Laurent scrunched up his face. “Are you stalling because you didn’t get me anything?”</p><p>Auguste smiled. “There’s about fifty boxes of Grand Cru chocolate in your bedroom.”</p><p>Laurent’s sound of ecstasy was too loud; Al spilled some of his whiskey onto his pants. Auguste clapped him on the back in commiseration. </p><p>As the servants laid out a small meal —  roses of smoked salmon on cucumber slices, macaroons, thin slices of cured meat and cheese, crunchy shrimp salad on crusty rolls, grapes and strawberries and mango and pineapple, individual strawberry shortcakes, that kind of thing — Auguste said, “Father tells me you’re having an affair with the King of Akielos.” He said it casually enough, but Laurent could see he wasn’t thrilled about the idea. </p><p>Laurent swallowed his last bite of sandwich and placed a hand on his heart. “Al! You should know better than to gossip, shame on you!”</p><p>Al just sighed, a long, suffering sound, and Auguste glared openly at him. “I thought you promised to stop disrespecting Father like that.”</p><p>Laurent’s stomach pooled with an uncomfortable tightness. Being told off by Auguste somehow was always worse than being told off by Al.</p><p>“Fine,” Laurent said shortly. He said to Al: “Oh dearest Father, Papa, Your Majesty,  light of my life, the man who impregnated Queen Hennike, so I, your glorious creation, could be born to bring <em>some</em> joy to this bleak, bleak world: stop gossiping immediately.”</p><p>There was a very long pause. Then Auguste laughed. “You are such a shit.” </p><p>Al sighed again. “He’s becoming more and more insolent by the day.”</p><p>“Thank you so much,” Laurent said, wiping away an imaginary tear. </p><p>Auguste barked another laugh. Al sipped more whiskey; a very good sign. Laurent was going to take advantage of this; he wanted a new watch. </p><p>Auguste continued his questioning a few minutes later. “So. You and the King — it’s true?”</p><p>Laurent flapped a hand. “Oh, you know how it is. He saw those pictures of me from Aimeric’s birthday party where I wore those silk shorts that were<em> just</em> long enough to be tasteful and the poor darling had absolutely no choice but to slide into my DMs and woo me.”</p><p>“What’s a DM?” asked Al, and if the question had come from anyone else, Laurent would have found it adorable. He probably would have tweeted it as well, if he was allowed to.</p><p>“Texting,” Auguste said. He seemed contemplative. “Aimeric’s birthday — from last September? It’s been a bit more than a year.” </p><p>“Yes,” said Laurent. He tried to say it as wistfully as possible. “He bought me a Ferrarri.” </p><p>“Really?” Auguste sounded impressed. “The 1954?”</p><p>Laurent grinned. “Do you want to drive it?”</p><p>“Fuck yeah,” Auguste said, then quickly cleared his throat and looked at their father. “I mean, yes. Perhaps later in the afternoon.”</p><p>Al shook his head, but he didn’t say anything for the rest of the meal. Well, he didn’t say anything to Laurent. He really <em>was</em> in a good mood. </p><p>*</p><p>Having Auguste back had Laurent so distracted it wasn’t until a few days later that he realised how frantically the staff were cleaning the floors and walls and painting frames.</p><p>In fact, he became so relaxed doing less than nothing all day, since Al was too busy doing this and that, or fawning over Auguste, he didn’t comprehend <em>why</em> the chefs needed fifty boars delivered fresh on Friday morning, until Al told him before their weekly Council, “I want you to wear your red high neck blouse tomorrow.” </p><p>“Why?” Laurent asked, checking for any fine lines in the shine of the armour of one of the propped knights in the hallway. </p><p>“It is the colour of the Akielos banner. I am trying to seem as diplomatic as possible.”</p><p>Laurent went very, very still. With dawning horror, he said, “The — Damianos is coming tomorrow?”</p><p>Al’s expression turned thunderous. “Do not waste my time asking stupid questions, Laurent. You know how much I despise it.”</p><p>Laurent’s eyes widened. “Oh no,” he said quietly, real fear settling into his bones. Damianos was going to murder him tomorrow. He would need to get a facial tonight, to ensure he was the most beautiful corpse the human eye had seen. And then something much more horrific occurred to him. “Wait! I can’t wear the red high neck with the Crown of Naos! Those colours completely clash!”</p><p>Al seemed to age a few centuries in a blink of an eye. With a shake of his head, he walked into the Chambers, leaving Laurent alone in the hallway.</p><p>Laurent frowned. One of these days, he was going to be the one storming out. It was only fair. </p><p>*</p><p>Things only got worse.</p><p>Laurent’s last minute facial <em>broke him out</em>, so he threatened to sue and smashed one of their stupid reclining chairs. </p><p>Laurent had honestly thought that was going to be the worst of it; the pimple along his jawline was easy to cover up once he got the local dermatologist to inject something in it. </p><p>But on the morning of Damianos’ arrival, Laurent was in a terrible mood. He hadn’t slept at all, worried about his pimple, his horrible outfit, and the fact that a man who was the size of a small house — Google said Damianos was 6’6”, but he was definitely way more, no arguments — was going to viciously kill him. </p><p>“Hurry up,” Laurent snapped at the servant dressing him, who had been pulling too sharply at his laces for the last six minutes. </p><p>“Yes, Your Highness,” he answered meekly, and continued fumbling about.</p><p>When a few more minutes passed, Laurent looked down at him. “Okay, seriously, this is ridiculous. You usually get me dressed in ten minutes or less. What is the problem?”</p><p>“I —” The servant looked like he was on the verge of tears. “Your Highness, the laces — I can’t do them up. It’s uh — it’s too tight.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Laurent asked, narrowing his eyes. “This fit perfectly a month ago.”</p><p>“Yes, well —” And his eyes slid over to the bed, where an empty, open box of chocolates was stacked against many other empty boxes of chocolate. </p><p>Laurent saw red.</p><p>It took three guards and then Jord and Lazar to keep Laurent restrained enough to not kill him. In the end, he yelled until his throat was hoarse and the servant broke down, running out the room with his face covered in tears. </p><p>Afterwards, Laurent attempted to do up the laces himself, because he was <em>not</em> fat, and he definitely had <em>not</em> gained weight; he was svelte and sexy and <em>desirable.</em> </p><p>In the end, he could only do his trousers up, and only just. If he let out a particularly deep exhale… well, breathing was overrated anyway, Laurent had always thought so. </p><p>“Oh, forget it!” Laurent howled, miserable and on the verge of tears himself. “I look ridiculous.”</p><p>“No, you don’t, Your Highness,” Jord assured quickly. Too quickly. </p><p>Laurent glanced at himself in the mirror. His ass was practically suffocated in these trousers — and that was his best feature! He ran a hand down it forlornly. “It’s too tight.” </p><p>Jord’s eyes followed his hand with avid interest. He was drooling.</p><p>“Could be tighter,” said Lazar, leaning against the bedpost.</p><p>Laurent flung himself on the bed. “No it couldn’t. I need to lose about three kilograms in the next —” He checked the clock, “half an hour. Oh god. Just tell Al I died. It’ll make his day, go on.”</p><p>“Orgasms help with weight loss,” said Lazar. “I could fuck your face.” </p><p>Laurent sniffed “Don’t be so stupid.” He looked at the clock again. “Obviously, riding you will help me lose more calories. Both of you get on the bed, quick.”</p><p>*</p><p>Laurent did not lose three kilograms in half an hour. As enjoyable as the sex had been, it had only made him tired and anxious. </p><p>Jord suggested that Laurent should just let the laces at the back trail, and cover it up with a coat, even though it was far too hot in the year to wear one. Laurent obliged anyway, knowing how difficult Al would be if he showed up wearing undiplomatic colours. He changed his trousers into a different pair, making sure it had an elastic waistband to stretch accommodatingly. </p><p>When the crown was placed on his head, he staggered a little. It really was unnecessarily heavy. His great great grandfather must have had a head the size of a watermelon.</p><p>Laurent walked unsteadily down the hall, towards the Palace steps where Auguste and Al were already waiting. His insides became so twisted with the thought of seeing Damianos, he had to make a detour and hide behind a tapestry to have a panic, but only a little one.</p><p>Outside, the sun was blazing. Auguste clapped him on the back in greeting, and Laurent winced, the material of his blouse sticking to his armpits. Al’s lips curled at his outfit, but Laurent couldn’t care. He hoped he looked beautiful enough — just enough — so Damianos would reconsider his murder. At the very least, Laurent hoped nothing happened to his face.</p><p>“Alright?” said Auguste. “You’re sweating.”</p><p>“Shut up,” said Laurent, mortified. He was a prince; he did not <em>sweat</em>. </p><p>Auguste’s response was cut off by the sound of the gates opening and rolling tires on gravel. Laurent’s heart was in his ears; he swallowed, but it made him feel more sick.</p><p>The sleek, black car was parked in the driveway. Several seconds later, Damianos stepped out, tall and handsome.</p><p>Laurent whimpered. It was one thing to see photos of Damianos on the internet, walking briskly down the street or shaking hands with Al, and it was another thing entirely to see him in the flesh as he walked down their driveway. </p><p>He was <em>so</em> tall. And he was built like a tree; all thick arms and chest and <em>thighs</em>. Laurent had <em>such</em> a weakness for thighs, they were really the best part of a man’s body, how they framed the groin and the cock and —</p><p>Laurent realised, suddenly, that he had not prepared at all for how he was going to greet Damianos. </p><p>Lovers kissed each other, yes? Laurent didn’t think he could do that without being punched but god, would Al think it was weird if he didn’t at least <em>attempt</em> to kiss Damianos? Maybe he could pretend to suddenly be shy, too coy to look into Damianos’ eyes in front of everyone — yes, yes that sounded perfect.</p><p>Damianos came up the stairs, smile wide and straight. His teeth were amazing. Were they fake? Laurent didn’t think so; he ran his tongue over his own, nervous, heart still thumping in his ears. </p><p>He greeted Al first. Laurent’s head was spinning. What if Al said something? What if Auguste did? What if Damianos said something that alluded to the fact that this was technically, the first time he and Laurent would be speaking to another?</p><p>And then Laurent couldn’t think of anything else, because Damianos was standing right in front of him.</p><p>He reached out, one large, dark hand to shake Laurent’s. Laurent staggered forward, into his chest, and closed his eyes.</p><p>*</p><p>When he opened his eyes again, Laurent saw the most beautiful angel.</p><p>“Wow, you’re hot.” Laurent poked a very hard, very strong bicep. “Heaven’s pretty cool.” He was dead, obviously,  because people this good looking didn’t exist in the mortal world.</p><p>“You’re not dead, Laurent. Can you sit up?”</p><p>Laurent thought about it. He wasn’t dead? That was good news. But he <em>felt</em> like he was dead because he couldn’t move his body at all.</p><p>“Here, can you follow my finger?”</p><p>“Hmm.” Laurent said and stared unblinkingly at what he assumed was a finger. It was quite blurry.</p><p>“I think he’s concussed.”</p><p>Laurent giggled. The stranger’s accent made it sound like he had said <em>cock</em>-cussed. It made Laurent want to suck cock.</p><p>He said, “If I’m not dead, I’d like to be. Jord, get me my blue Prada scarf. I want to be buried in it. Lazar, get your gun out.”</p><p>“He doesn’t seem concussed.” That was Al. The compulsion to die was suddenly much stronger.</p><p>“We should take him to the hospital,” the hot angel said. Laurent was in love.</p><p>He said as much: “I really love you,” he told the blurry figure. Then he rolled over onto his side and threw up. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>lmk your thoughts and come say hi on tumblr! @goldencuffs</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Garden Party.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Laurent followed the light Paschal was shining into his eyes with ease, even though it was most definitely blinding him.</p>
<p>“I keep telling you I’m <em>fine,</em>” Laurent insisted. “The only thing wrong with me is the fact that I am able to remember exactly what happened outside the Palace steps — and therefore I require some sort of tablet that will erase it from my mind.”</p>
<p>Paschal clicked his torch. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything like that, Your Highness.”</p>
<p>“That’s ludicrous!” Laurent said. “What kind of ward are you running here? I demand to be drugged.”</p>
<p>Paschal said <em>hmm</em> and consulted his notes. “Well, Laurent, I’m sure now you are aware of what a toll your body goes through when you feed it nothing but chocolate and alcohol for a week.” He peered at Laurent over the tops of his glasses, like a scientist from a movie. “Yes?”</p>
<p>Laurent swung his legs on the bench. Paschal was very intimidating when he wanted to be. “Yes, alright, fine, eat broccoli once in a while, got it.”</p>
<p>Paschal nodded. “Maybe brussel sprouts every now and then, too.”</p>
<p>“You ask for far too much, Paschal. Request denied.”</p>
<p>Paschal flipped his clipboard. “You’re free to go, Your Highness. Just make sure to stay out the sun and drink plenty of water. <em>No </em>wine at the party this afternoon.”</p>
<p>What a horrifying thought. No alcohol while he was forced to sit with Al at the head table? Laurent would sooner stab himself with a silver plated fork. But then he realised — “Wait, you’re dismissing me?” Laurent sat up, panic washing over him. “I think you’re being a bit too hasty, Paschal. What if I have some sort of rare, tragic disease? If I end up dying tonight, think of how guilty you’d feel.” He gave a jerky nod. “You simply wouldn’t be able to handle it. To protect your fragile mental state, I’ll do you a favour. I’ll just stay here the entire night or maybe for the next twelve days until the Akielon guests leave. Really, it’s no trouble for me.”</p>
<p>Paschal observed him for a moment. It seemed like he was trying not to laugh. He said, “Your Highness… there is nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m sure the Akielon delegates understand and sympathise with the fact that you were unwell today.”</p>
<p>“I <em>threw up</em>,” Laurent said. “In front of everyone —” He stopped, and let out a loud wail. “Oh god, <em>I’m </em>the Torveld of this relationship!”</p>
<p>“Uh,” said Paschal.</p>
<p>“You don’t understand, Paschal, I’ve completely destroyed my once chance to — I’m going to be a laughing stock! All these years cultivating my perfect image and it’s up in flames in a matter of seconds!” He rubbed his temples. “I can’t do it. I can’t face Damianos. Not after —”</p>
<p>Paschal cleared his throat after a stretch of silence. “Laurent, I know exactly what your relationship with the King of Akielos is like.”</p>
<p>Fear gripped Laurent. He snapped his head up. “You do?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Paschal. “And from what I’ve heard, a little bit of sick isn’t going to stop him from loving you. That’s the wonderful thing about love: you appreciate the good things so much, the bad things don’t seem so bad.”</p>
<p>Laurent’s throat was tight. Hearing about love when it was placed in the context of him and Damianos seemed wrong. He asked Paschal, “Do you love anybody like that?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Paschal, smiling warmly. “My son.”</p>
<p>It was such a lovely thing to say. Laurent immediately burst into tears.</p>
<p>Paschal offered him tissues while Laurent cried. He didn’t really know why he was crying; he assumed the stress of today was finally catching up to him.</p>
<p>When he calmed down, Laurent said, “How old is your son?”</p>
<p>“Three. Are you alright now, Your Highness?”</p>
<p>Laurent waved him off. He reached for his wallet and took out two sticks of gum, a piece of candy and a single tic tac.</p>
<p>“Here,” he said, placing them in Paschal’s open palm. “Give these to him, as a gift from me.”</p>
<p>Kids loved presents, Laurent knew from experience. No doubt Paschal’s son would wet himself at the thought of receiving gifts from a <em>prince</em>.</p>
<p>“Er,” Paschal stared at the items in his hand. “Thank you, Your Highness. You’re very charitable.”</p>
<p>Laurent wiped his nose, sniffed. “I know.” Then he said, “Could I just lie down for a bit? The crying has kind of made me tired.”</p>
<p>Paschal gave him a small smile. “Of course. Do you want me to call in your brother? He’s been very worried.”</p>
<p>Laurent thought about it. He wasn’t in the mood for visitors, but he supposed, in order to garner as much sympathy as he could, having Auguste visit him when he was in a wretched state would be best. He nodded.</p>
<p>Laurent laid down on the cold, hard plastic. He didn’t like hospitals for this reason: they always smelled a little <em>too </em>clean.</p>
<p>Auguste walked in, face sombre.</p>
<p>Laurent groaned when he saw him. “Your moustache is somehow <em>worse </em>in this lighting. Please shave it. You can’t refuse me, I’m on my death bed.”</p>
<p>Auguste laughed, but it was a relieved sound. “I’m so glad you’re alright. You really had me worried.” He touched Laurent’s forehead, pushing back his hair. Laurent stiffened, and Auguste removed his hand. “Sorry. I — You scared me today, Laurent.”</p>
<p>“Did I really?” Laurent looked at him. “Was it that bad?”</p>
<p>Auguste nodded. “It didn’t seem like it at first, but then you started singing <em>I Want it That Way </em>by the Backstreet Boys.”</p>
<p>Laurent propped himself up on his elbows. “<em>No</em>,” he said in horror.</p>
<p>Auguste said, “I know. That’s when I realised it must have been serious, since you always say that song is over-hyped and anyone who is a real Backstreet Boys fan would sing —”</p>
<p>“<em>Shape of My Heart</em>,” they said in unison.</p>
<p>Laurent lay back down. “Wow. I can’t believe I’d betray myself like that.”</p>
<p>“You are your own worst enemy.” Auguste sighed.</p>
<p>Laurent sighed, too. He didn’t remember singing at all. It seemed he had a long, growing list of all the ways he had managed to embarrass himself in front of Damianos.</p>
<p>Tentatively, Laurent said, “Is Al mad I ruined everything?”</p>
<p>Auguste sigh this time was much more weary. “No, Laurent. He was really worried too.”</p>
<p>“Then where is he?”</p>
<p>“He had to go back to the Palace. He couldn’t just leave the Akielon party.”</p>
<p>“Oh, no, I suppose not. Yes, now I remember why: a group of random strangers is <em>much </em>more important than your dying son.” Laurent’s bitterness made his throat close up.</p>
<p>“The Akielon guests aren’t strangers. And you’re not dying.”</p>
<p>Laurent stared up at the tiled ceiling and the blinking fluorescent lights. “Lucky me.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>It seemed that Al’s Kingly status had been used for something good, finally. Laurent checked the news as they went home, his stomach rolling unpleasantly in the back of the limousine, and was relieved to see that although there were already several articles about him fainting, there were no photographs printed or shared, even though Laurent knew there had been official photographers stationed behind Damianos, ready to take the perfect shot of their meeting. Al had probably prevented any photos from being leaked, for fear of ruining the royal family’s reputation, not out of any duty towards Laurent. Still, it was a relief.</p>
<p>Most importantly, not a single article mentioned him throwing up — (<em>ugh, </em>Laurent really needed to see if there was a pill that could induce amnesia. What <em>were </em>scientists doing these days anyway? Clearly not much; there were like a billion diseases still roaming the Earth) — which was a small mercy. In fact, <em>Vogue Vere</em> had linked ‘30 of Prince Laurent’s Best Looks’ at the end of their article, so Laurent was obviously going to send them the biggest gift basket tomorrow morning.</p>
<p><em>GQ Akielos</em> mentioned how “concerned” Damianos had seemed about Laurent’s condition, which Auguste confirmed as well.</p>
<p>“He insisted on driving you to the hospital himself,” Auguste said, smirking slightly. The moustache made the expression slightly sinister.</p>
<p>Laurent shuddered, then perked up. “<em>Really</em>?” Perhaps Laurent had underestimated himself. Perhaps Damianos had fallen in love with Laurent once he’d seen how poreless and smooth his skin was up close. <em>Perhaps </em>the fainting had triggered some sort of alpha male need to protect, and now Damianos was so madly in love with Laurent he couldn’t think straight anymore. Perhaps once he stepped back into the Palace Damianos would lift him up with those tree trunks he called arms and confess his undying love for Laurent.</p>
<p>“Hmm,” Auguste said, stretching out his legs and interrupting Laurent’s fantasy of being lifted up about five feet off the ground. “Father said it wasn’t necessary.”</p>
<p>“Of course he did,” Laurent muttered, rolling his eyes. “Al, with his hard-earned medical degree, must have known <em>exactly </em>what was and wasn’t necessary for me when I dropped to the floor in front of him. Thank goodness he was there, or I might not have made it at all!”</p>
<p>Auguste frowned. He always got a bit defensive when Laurent badmouthed Al, but like Laurent had told him when he was seventeen after an explosive fight, Auguste wasn’t home enough to see what Al was really like.</p>
<p>Although even when Auguste was home, he seemed particularly good at turning a blind eye to Al’s shortcomings.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, when they arrived at the Palace, there was no ‘Welcome Back!’ banner, or confetti filled cannons, or even a dog with a cute bowtie waiting for him. There wasn’t even a live band crooning any love songs. Surely Harry Styles wasn’t <em>that </em>busy?</p>
<p>Laurent had genuinely never felt so disrespected in his life — not even when Aimeric had gifted him a Michael Kors anorak like he was some sort of <em>peasant. </em></p>
<p>Even Al didn’t come out to greet him — not that Laurent cared. He definitely didn’t. But it was just common courtesy, wasn’t it, to greet your son after he had <em>passed out</em>? At this rate, if Laurent died before Al, he was certain his father would make excuses not to attend his funeral, either.</p>
<p>That thought depressed Laurent so much he had to take a seat in the throne room while the servants scrambled around him, mostly ignoring him and cleaning with a franticness that was disorientating to watch.</p>
<p>“Where is everyone?” Laurent asked Auguste, who hadn’t noticed Laurent’s sudden desolation.</p>
<p>Auguste peered at his watch — a hideous Chopard one; really, Auguste’s taste was so embarrassing, it was a wonder as to why he was allowed to roam the public streets. “The Garden Party is in an hour. I suppose everyone’s getting ready for that.”</p>
<p>Laurent squeaked. He had completely forgotten about that. “I need to get changed!” Then he paused. He turned to one of the servants who was aggressively rubbing at the gold trim around the windowsill. “Where is Damianos staying?” He had to make sure Damianos had really fallen in love with him — and tell him about the last three months, obviously. Yes. Laurent would bring that up first. Maybe. Probably.</p>
<p>“He’s in the Green Room in the east wing, Your Highness.”</p>
<p>Laurent’s eyes swivelled to the ornate ceiling in exasperation. The east wing was on the other side of the Palace, miles from his own room. There was no way he was going to be able to talk to Damianos and make it back to his room in time. Laurent’s hair deserved at <em>least </em>forty two minutes of brushing to achieve a lustrous shine.</p>
<p>Auguste laughed when Laurent voiced the last thought aloud, although Laurent didn’t understand what was so funny; he hadn’t made any jokes.</p>
<p>Auguste made to touch his shoulder, then stopped. But he was still smiling as he said, “Come on. You can talk to your lover later.”</p>
<p>Laurent’s chest tightened. He really, <em>really </em>hoped Damianos was in love with him; he had already fainted in public. He didn’t want to be punched in public, either.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Laurent’s first priority was to remedy his embarrassing incident. He ignored Al’s dress code — red, gold and black, <em>please. </em>It was like Al went out of his way to make sure everyone looked hideous<em> — </em>and donned on his custom made Alexander Wang suit, which was made of white, sheer lace that was transparent enough to show all the unblemished skin of his torso. Daring, yes, but Laurent needed Damianos — and pretty much everyone else — sufficiently distracted by his beauty, so they could completely forget about everything that had occurred a few hours ago. He also wore his signature circlet, the one that was lined with diamonds from Hennike’s private collection, instead of that stupid Crown of Naos. Laurent was going to burn <em>that </em>as soon as possible. He just needed an alibi first.</p>
<p>When he stepped out of his room — only an hour and ten minutes after the Garden Party had started — Laurent’s confidence sky rocketed; Lazar walked straight into a pillar and hit it hard enough that his nose started bleeding.</p>
<p>It only went uphill from there; Laurent entered the Gardens, the sun shining down on him like a spotlight. The Kyros of Delpha, who was standing closest to the entrance, choked on his drink, which caused one the guardsmen to violently hit him on the back.</p>
<p>One of the Akielon delegates slipped into the fountain. The server standing next to him dropped an entire tray of champagne flutes.</p>
<p>Laurent was feeling very good about all this. He could see Damianos from here; in the centre of the Garden, talking to a Veretian ambassador, wearing a criminally tight suit with a red bowtie.</p>
<p>Laurent made his way over, determined to redeem himself. If Damianos hadn’t fallen in love with him on the Palace steps, he definitely would now. He was stopped, unfortunately, by the one man he didn’t want to see.</p>
<p>Al said, “You’re alright then?” He was wearing a deep red suit that went amazingly well with his hair. He wasn’t wearing his crown, probably because Damianos wasn’t either.</p>
<p>Laurent pursed his lips. “Yes. But you already knew that, didn’t you, since you called a total of hmm… I think it was zero times? The hospital staff were <em>so </em>touched by your care; Paschal could hardly hold back his tears, the poor thing. ”</p>
<p>Al’s expression twisted. “I didn’t call because Auguste was giving me constant updates,” he barked, then visibly reigned himself in, aware of their very public setting.</p>
<p>“Yes, well, unluckily for you, I’m still alive,” Laurent said, and was gratified when Al paled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me —”</p>
<p>He was relieved Al hadn’t mentioned anything about Damianos not knowing about the fact that he was supposed to be dating Laurent. It was a good thing Al was so predictable; no doubt he had not cared enough about Laurent to interrogate his boyfriend. He probably hadn’t mentioned Laurent at all this morning.</p>
<p>“The dress code was red, gold and black,” Al said as Laurent tried to side step him.</p>
<p>“I’m still a bit concussed; couldn’t make out the words on the invite,” Laurent said, and this time, he successfully managed to get away.</p>
<p>Except, it seemed that everyone was eager to talk to Laurent, suddenly. Vannes called him <em>one of the bravest royals ever</em>, and Lord Felix cooed at him like he was an infant. And while Laurent didn’t exactly <em>hate </em>it — attention was what he thrived on, after all — it did get tiresome to explain how he had fainted for the hundredth time in ten minutes, even though no one thought it was embarrassing, but some sort of great, tragic incident. Lord Peterre was convinced Laurent had been the target of a hate crime, and everyone else in the growing circle around him seemed to agree.</p>
<p>“So you just woke up on the <em>ground</em>?” Jacques asked, eyes wide and startled.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Laurent said, a little impatiently. “Like I said, one moment I was standing, and then the next moment I was on the ground, where I definitely <em>didn’t </em>throw up. Honestly, I don’t understand what about that is so hard to follow.”</p>
<p>“I heard your heart <em>stopped</em>,” said Peterre. “And that even the paramedics couldn’t revive it. And then all the King of Akielos did was say your name and your eyes opened.”</p>
<p>“How romantic!” A young girl Laurent had never seen before said, her eyes shining with tears. Dear god, she couldn’t be a day over fifteen — why the hell did she have a champagne flute in her hand?!</p>
<p>“Er,” said Laurent, because he was sure that those series of events had never occurred. Then he thought: <em>what the hell. </em>“Yes, it’s true.”</p>
<p>There was a resounding cacophony of gasps and exclamations. The young girl started crying.</p>
<p>Laurent grimaced. Alright, this was officially a bit too much. “Excuse me,” he said, pushing past them.</p>
<p>Laurent couldn’t see Damianos anywhere, after he snuck off into a corner, alone. Everyone seemed to be gathered in small clusters; Auguste was in the middle of twenty delegates, who all laughed at something he had said, and Al was with the Kyros of Delpha and a very stunning woman.</p>
<p>For someone so large, Damianos was impossible to spot.</p>
<p>Laurent had a sudden thought: what if Damianos hadn’t fallen in love with him and had instead snuck away to hook up with someone here? Laurent himself had done it countless times during events like this. Oh god, if that was true, he’d be ruined. Al would know he had lied and Laurent would wake up the next day, married and shipped off to the home of some strange, foreign Lord. Knowing Al’s wrath, it would be to a Lord who thought <em>Gucci</em> was trendy. Or worse — a Lord who didn’t know Gucci at all!</p>
<p>Before Laurent could spiral into a panic, Torveld approached him in his corner. He was frowning. “Your Highness, may I be direct with you?”</p>
<p>Laurent cast him a frown. “You literally proposed to me like, three months ago. Why are you being so formal?”</p>
<p>Torveld’s shoulders slumped and he went red. He seemed to get a good look at Laurent’s outfit and he went so red, he looked almost purple. It took him several tries to start speaking. He said, “I would be honoured to challenge the King of Akielos to a duel in your honour.”</p>
<p>“Huh?” said Laurent. “A <em>duel</em>?” He peered at Torveld closely. “How old did you say you were again?” he said suspiciously. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone under the age of a hundred say the word <em>duel</em>.”</p>
<p>Despite his flush, Torveld kept his head high up. “Laurent, I know you’ve given your heart to the King of Akielos, but have you ever considered the fact that maybe you don’t have <em>his</em>?”</p>
<p>Laurent grew still. “What.”</p>
<p>Torveld’s expression was sympathetic, if a little condescending. He leaned in close, lowering his voice. “He’s been denying the fact that you two are together.”</p>
<p>Laurent went even stiller. “What.”</p>
<p>“Lady Alice asked him if he was going to marry you anytime soon, and he said that a marriage between you two was unlikely, since the two of you weren’t even together.”</p>
<p>“Eep!” said Laurent, because his throat had closed off and actual words wouldn’t form in his mouth.</p>
<p>Torveld continued, “I think he’s being highly disrespectful. If he planned on breaking up with you, he should have at least let you know first.”</p>
<p>Oh, god. If Damianos had already spoken to Lady Alice, one of the most affluent members in the Veretian Council, he was dead. Deader than dead. Was that possible? It didn’t matter — Al would make sure Laurent ended up that way, someway or another.</p>
<p>Laurent had to fix this. He said to Torveld, slightly crazed, “Where is he?” He gripped onto Torveld’s shoulders and shook him. “Where?”</p>
<p>Torvled raised his arms in surrender. “I think he went to the patio.”</p>
<p>“Is he alone?”</p>
<p>“I think so?”</p>
<p>And suddenly, the most stupidest idea of Laurent’s entire life came to him. He waited a few beats, in case a slightly less stupid idea came into his head instead, but it didn’t seem like it was.</p>
<p>He said to Torveld, “Meet me in the patio in five minutes, alright?”</p>
<p>Torveld looked unsure. “But — they’re going to start serving lunch soon.”</p>
<p>Laurent stomped on his foot. “Torveld, focus! There are more important issues at hand than <em>lunch</em>.” He walked off towards the patio, shouting behind him, “Five minutes!”</p>
<p>The patio was quite a distance from where the party was being held; it was technically only reserved for coronations, but sometimes Al let Auguste practice fencing here. Laurent didn’t take fencing lessons because Al had said it would be a waste of time, which Laurent had agreed with. Laurent only liked to sweat if it involved a man and a bed or a sofa or a wall or a bench or a jet or a car or the ground, although only sometimes, because his back ached and not in a pleasant way —</p>
<p>The sounds of the party dissipated. The patio overlooked more of the Gardens, the part of it only Al had access to. Damianos was standing, a tall, intimidating, <em>hot </em>figure, smoking. God, his suit was tight. What were they feeding the population of Akielos?</p>
<p>Damianos turned once he heard footsteps. He put out his cigarette. His reaction upon seeing Laurent wasn’t as dramatic as everyone else’s, but he still looked Laurent up and down. He went a bit red, the colour settling in the highest point of his ears. It made him look young, flushed like that.</p>
<p>Laurent preened, despite his tight chest.</p>
<p>Damianos smiled as Laurent came closer. He said, in Veretian, “Your Highness, I hope you’re feeling better.”</p>
<p>No fist came swinging at him. In fact, Damianos looked very relaxed, his posture lazy.</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Laurent. He had to look up and up to meet Damianos’ face — and Laurent wasn’t short. “I’m very sorry about earlier.”</p>
<p>Damianos eyebrows scrunched up. He said, diplomatically, “That’s all right. I’m glad you’re well.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Laurent again, nodding.</p>
<p>There was a pause. It was a very uncomfortable one. Finally Damianos said, “Your country is quite lovely. I didn’t get to see much of it last time, but hopefully I can visit more of it during this trip.”</p>
<p>“Hmm,” said Laurent, not really listening. He could hear footsteps approaching behind him.</p>
<p>Once he heard Torveld enter, Laurent dropped to his knees, eyes level with Damianos’ crotch.</p>
<p>Damianos’ eyes widened, then narrowed. He made to step back, but it was too late. Behind him Laurent could hear Torveld stammer out, “Oh — I’m terribly sorry. I thought — er, nevermind. Sorry — I — I’m leaving now.”</p>
<p>Damianos shook his head. “No, no, you misunderstood —” But, Torveld was practically running away.</p>
<p>Laurent grinned to himself. Now, it didn’t really matter what Damianos had said about he and Laurent not being together; Torveld, who had the inability to keep his mouth shut, was no doubt already on his way to tell everyone he had caught Laurent on his knees in front of Damianos during an event that was celebrating the Akielon guests.</p>
<p>“What…” began Damianos, stepping further away.</p>
<p>Laurent pretended to pick up something off the ground. “My contact fell out, silly me. Well, I’ll be off then. They’re serving lunch soon, you know.”</p>
<p>He fled before Damianos could say anything.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>EDIT: the AMAZING <a href="https://babyephant.tumblr.com/">@babyephant</a> has created this INCREDIBLE masterpiece of laurent's suit from this chapter!! ive been obsessively staring at it ten hours a day since it was first posted im so in love!! you can find it <a href="https://babyephant.tumblr.com/post/625630283641880576/inspired-by-in-the-absence-of-a-king-by">HERE!!</a> please please show them some love and support, they are so freaking talented and wonderful!!!! 😍😍😍 thank you again, im never getting over this piece 🥰🥰🥰</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Rumours.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WARNING: this chapter mentions a non consensual kiss.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Torveld worked exceedingly fast. By the time the entrees had been served, there was already a low buzzing in the air, and fervent, curious stares — particularly from the foreign delegates. (This was probably because every Veretian from the ages seven and up knew of Laurent’s… escapades and had grown bored of them).</p><p>The buzzing grew louder, more excited when Laurent made a show of wiping his bottom lip as he sat down.</p><p>Damianos was contributing to the buzz, too, although unintentionally. His expression was similar to how most men looked after Laurent sucked them off: baffled, inattentive, and flushed. Laurent was a little obsessed with how he looked, even though he hadn’t sucked his cock. Or seen it. But he <em>had </em>noticed how…<em>full </em>Damen’s pants had seemed for the few, brief moments he had been on his knees.</p><p>Al took notice of the atmosphere. It was insulting how swift he was to round on Laurent. In a low voice, so as to not be overheard by the Kyros of Delpha, who still looked like he hadn’t recovered from Laurent’s outfit, Al said, “What did you do?”</p><p>Laurent picked up his fork and stabbed his salmon crepe with relish. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“When I ask you a question, Laurent, I expect a straight answer, not another question. Do you understand? Now tell me what you <em>did.</em>” Al was growing red, his mouth pursed. Laurent had the urge to squeeze his face, just to see if he could make his eyes bug out, like those horrendous, squishy toys he had seen in common, street marketplaces like Target and whatnot. He also considered responding with: <em>I can only give gay answers, Al, </em>but Al hadn’t liked the joke too much last time, and he was in a much more tumultuous mood right now.</p><p>Laurent settled on a half truth. “Torveld lost his mind because he saw Damianos and I kissing on the patio, so he went ahead and told everyone.”</p><p>Al fixed him with a cold glare. It was unflattering on him; all his features bunched up together and his forehead creased with an alarming amount of lines. It was a terrible habit to frown like this, Laurent thought. Al was going to look twice his age very, very soon.</p><p>Al said, “This is an extremely important visit, Laurent.” His voice went lower, more dangerous. “If you do anything to jeopardise the reputation of our family, there will be serious consequences.” He went back to his meal without waiting for Laurent’s response, and Laurent watched him plaster an expression that was genuine and interested as the Kyros called for his attention.</p><p>It was just so <em>unfair. </em>Had Al already dismissed the fact that Laurent had been in hospital only four hours ago? When Aimeric had broken his ankle last fall, his mother had organised for Taylor Swift to perform in his bedroom for an entire afternoon. If Laurent were to ever break his ankle, Al would blame Laurent for having ankles in the first place.</p><p>Laurent shoved more salad and crepe into his mouth, brooding. On the other side of the table, Damianos was talking to Ambassador Radel, who was very sweetly loyal to Laurent. He was, therefore, disliked by Al, and was always met with shrewd, suspicious glances during Council meetings.</p><p>Whatever Damianos was saying was causing Radel great offence. Damianos’ face was pinched, but Radel’s was furious: his jaw was locked with tension, and he was grinding his teeth a little. Laurent stared on, confused. He wasn’t the only one discreetly watching the pair: the Veretian delegates around them had stopped eating, and were instead trying to listen in on the conversation.</p><p>Damianos’ voice was too soft to be heard, but he was stiff all over, fists clenched. Radel was as red as Al had been a few moments ago.</p><p>Eventually, Auguste, who had been drooling a little while talking to an Akielon council member, realised there was something amiss. He looked to Laurent first — again, extremely insulting — and then to Damianos, eyebrows furrowed.</p><p>Then, in a staged, loud voice, Auguste said, “Your Majesty, I have heard that people often die while playing <em>okton </em>in your country<em>. </em>Is this true?”</p><p>Damianos turned away from Radel, expression still tight. But, realising he had an audience now, he straightened himself, eyes alight, mouth firming. It was a Kingly expression. Laurent recognised it through Al, who used it whenever a camera was pointed at him while he was speaking to an official.</p><p>“Yes,” said Damianos, and there were titillating gasps across the table.</p><p>Laurent didn’t bother listening; sports were boring, even the kind where people died, and there were more important matters at hand: they were serving the main course, beef wellington with mushroom purée. He should probably have two servings, he decided. Paschal had practically said as much. Also, Laurent was still a growing man; he had yet to catch up to Auguste’s height, so it was important for him to eat.</p><p>Laurent dug in with enthusiasm, ignoring everyone around him for several blissful moments.</p><p>“It’s not bloody going anywhere,” Al said under his breath.</p><p>Laurent clenched his fork tighter and ducked his head closer to the plate. Gods, he’d do anything to have a drink — even if it involved marrying Torveld. He now had a new goal: to leave this table as soon as possible. He would have to sacrifice dessert. Well, no. That was just crazy. Maybe Laurent could leave the table and have the chef bring him dessert to his room.</p><p>Yes, perfect. His own intellect amazed him sometimes.</p><p>Half an hour later, Laurent made his excuses. For the first time in a while, Al didn’t make a fuss about it, but that was probably because of Vannes, who cooed at him like she was his mother, and said that he needed rest after the hate crime that had occurred this morning.</p><p>Auguste said, “Hate crime? He just fainted.”</p><p>Laurent bristled at the <em>just, </em>but Vannes said, “Oh no, Your Highness, it was most definitely a hate crime against poor Laurent. He’s not very well liked, you know.”</p><p>“Yes, <em>thank you</em>,” Laurent snapped, making his way around the table.</p><p>With everyone seated, the Garden was empty; the only people milling about the outskirts were waiting staff, security and the event managers. Laurent’s shoulders relaxed the further he walked on. Good god, after everything that had happened today, he desperately needed a massage. Preferably one from that nice, muscled apprentice of Guymar’s. He was <em>very </em>dedicated to his career, which Laurent always appreciated in a man. Yes, he thought dreamily, a massage was a need at this point.</p><p>Lost in thought about hands and other useful appendages, Laurent almost missed it. But as he reached the edge of the manicured lawn, Laurent heard a clear, distinct voice call out his name. “Laurent.”</p><p>It wasn’t a shout; the voice was loud and smooth enough to be heard across several feet.</p><p>Laurent almost stopped. It was only years of avoiding Al in hallways and at red carpet events and even on the way to his bedroom, that kept him moving. He quickened his pace, though not too much, because keeping his hair styled was a priority.</p><p>Damianos’ voice came again, louder, a little exasperated. “<em>Laurent.</em>”</p><p>Laurent hesitated. Damianos’ voice was firm, commanding.</p><p>In the few, critical seconds he had slowed down, Damianos had caught up with him — which wasn’t a reflection of how unfit Laurent was, absolutely not. Damianos just had freakishly long legs.</p><p>“We need to talk, Your Highness,” Damianos said. “It’s urgent.”</p><p>“Uh,” Laurent floundered for a while. In Patran he said, “I don’t understand you.”</p><p>Damianos’ eyes narrowed. He looked at Laurent like he thought he was the stupider than the stupidest man alive. Laurent knew said man — (Govart, a previous security guard at the Palace who believed elephants didn’t exist and that the word orange had a <em>w</em>) — and felt thoroughly offended.</p><p>“I’m speaking Veretian,” Damianos said in perfect Veretian. His accent was flawless, really. Except when he said words like <em>concussed. </em></p><p>Laurent held up his hands in a <em>what can you do </em>sort of way and continued in Patran, “I have never heard of that language.” He made to move back, towards the safety of the Palace steps, but Damianos moved closer.</p><p>“Your pronunciation is terrible,” Damianos said in perfect Patran.</p><p>Laurent’s eyes widened. He tried to think of something witty to say but all that came out his mouth was, “Mmmpph.” It wasn’t a word, yet, but surely in a few days, everyone would start saying so, really, he was an amazing, accomplished trendsetter.</p><p>He was definitely editing this interaction out of his biography.</p><p>“I’m busy,” said Laurent, still speaking Patran because he had just admitted his mother language didn’t exist and if Laurent was one thing, it was committed.</p><p>“It will only take a minute, I assure you,” Damianos said, beginning to sound impatient.</p><p>Laurent had once read a news article about a man strangling another in under fourteen seconds. It had been right under the horoscope section in <em>Vere Weekly</em>, hence the reason why he had read it all, but still. Damianos was a large, strong man. Al would probably give him a medal if he killed Laurent.</p><p>Laurent touched the back of his head, eyebrows knitting. “I’m not supposed to be out in sunlight too long. I’m starting to get a headache.”</p><p>Damianos looked concerned. All at once, he seemed to remember that Laurent had fainted <em>without</em> throwing up right in front of him a few hours earlier. “Oh,” he said. “Are you alright? Is there anyone I can call?”</p><p>“Yes,” said Laurent, still cradling his head. “My physician is back there, that man in the black and white outfit. Do you see him?”</p><p>Damianos eyes fixed on one of the waiting staff, who was holding a large tray of soup. “Him?”</p><p>“Yes. We’ve had budgetary cut, you know. The poor thing had to take up another job to make ends meet.”</p><p>“Ah, yes,” Damianos said, nodding. “We’ve had some staff cuts too. It’s very unfortunate, no?” He waited for Laurent’s <em>mmm</em> and then said, “Okay, I’ll get your doctor and then we can talk, yes?”</p><p>Laurent nodded. Damianos approached the waiter, who looked terrified at seeing the King of Akielos walk towards him.</p><p>Laurent didn’t waste another second. He turned around and ran back into the Palace.</p><p>*</p><p>The last time the Arles Palace had been so noisy, crowded and full with people, a distant cousin of Al’s, Alaster, had been marrying a low-ranking minister from Kempt called Luca. Al had offered to hold the ceremony in the Gardens, as a show of goodwill to the Kempt government, who had never been fond of Al for stealing away their only princess, and then having her buried in Veretian soil.</p><p>Two days before the wedding, Luca kissed Laurent on the balcony overlooking the Grand Hall. Laurent had only been seventeen and Luca was much older, in his early thirties, and drunk on expensive, imported wine. Laurent had pulled back, shocked and repulsed, and had not dared tell Al, for fear he got mad.</p><p>Al became mad anyway, because Luca told everyone the next morning that Laurent had kissed him, despite Luca politely rejecting his advances. Alaster had yelled at Laurent, then Al, and uninvited the both of them to his wedding. Al also yelled at Laurent, first in front of everyone, then again, in private, with only the guardsmen as witness. No matter how much Laurent had begged and cried, Al had refused to believe him.</p><p>Then, it got worse: Auguste came back home the night before the wedding, and had simply believed everything Al had said. He hadn’t even bothered to ask Laurent his side of things before he began telling him off.</p><p>The fight had been intense, grueling. It had ended with Laurent punching Auguste in the face.</p><p>That had been as bad as Laurent and Auguste’s relationship had ever been, but Laurent didn’t like thinking about it, or Luca.</p><p>Later, Al had apologised to Laurent and had gifted him a wonderful, sweet five year old Cleaveland Bay. It had been love at first sight.</p><p>But the palace right now was so reminiscent of that time, Laurent felt the anxiousness press down in his chest.</p><p>The one thing that kept him from spiralling was the fact that his outfit from yesterday had made headlines this morning. It was a record; Laurent had been in the news for two days now, and nothing said so far had been particularly scandalous, but rather empathetic and well, <em>nice. Harper’s Bazaar Vere </em>wrote in their article that Laurent was “a fresh, daring face in royal fashion history” and most of the comments underneath agreed.</p><p>Laurent had never had so many people praise him at once. And yes, technically those people <em>were </em>strangers with usernames like bleached_butthole1 — why the one, thought Laurent. Were there more bleached_buttholes? And why? Was this particular bleached_butthole the alpha of all bleached_buttholes? Was there a community of bleached_buttholes? — but it was a welcome change of routine.</p><p>The Arles Palace media relations office forwarded several emails from various fashion magazines, both high and low scale, that had requested an interview from Laurent. Al had made Laurent sign a contract several months ago, stating that he would not give any interviews alone, so he dismissed those with a reluctant heart. There was, however, one email that caught and held Laurent’s attention: it was from a small, local merchant brand called <em>Charls </em>that had asked him to collaborate on a few key pieces for their spring/summer collection. It was no Prada, but perhaps, with Laurent’s influence, it could be.</p><p>Laurent had always wanted to design a fashion line. Initially, he had wanted to study fashion and art history in university, but Al had forbidden it. Auguste, too, had said it “wasn’t appropriate” for a royal, and the subject had been subsequently dropped. Sometimes, Laurent read the textbooks Aimeric kept tucked away in his bedroom, but it wasn’t the same.</p><p>Either way, Laurent was overall, in a good mood in the morning.</p><p>It didn’t last, though. At breakfast, Al was in a foul mood. It didn’t take long to find out why.</p><p>The rumours from yesterday had persisted all through the night, and now in the morning, too. Except, they had grown more scandalous. One of the visiting Lords was insistent that he had seen Laurent entertaining three different Ambassadors <em>and </em>King Damianos at the same time, while another delegate said that Laurent had made her film Damianos fucking Laurent on the patio. There was also speculation that the reason why Damianos had followed Laurent to the Gardens in the middle of lunch was so he could finish what he started on the patio, except this time with all the wait staff watching. Laurent’s personal favourite one was the one where a noble had overheard Damianos spanking Laurent for wearing clothes to the Garden Party, when it had been agreed upon that he would show up naked.</p><p>Unfortunately, Al didn’t think the rumours were as funny as Laurent did.</p><p>“I have <em>never </em>been so humiliated in my life,” Al said, slamming his open palm against the table. “The things I have heard all morning are — frankly — disgusting, and about my own son, no less!”</p><p>“But I didn’t <em>do</em> anything,” Laurent said for the umpteenth time. “How is it <em>my</em> fault that people can’t stop obsessing over me?”</p><p>Auguste stared at the ceiling, lips pressed together.</p><p>Laurent continued, “Isn’t there some kind of law for speaking ill against the royal family? Why not just execute all those Lords and be done with it?”</p><p>“For fuck’s<em> sake</em>, Laurent!” Al snarled and oh no; swearing was a very bad sign.</p><p>Laurent immediately went still. Even Auguste winced a little.</p><p>Al breathed in through his nose, the noise a rattling wheeze. He was crimson in his rage, the colour meeting with his hairline.</p><p>After a long, dangerous pause, Al said, “You are not to leave your room for the rest of the day. Is that clear?”</p><p>Laurent’s mouth dropped open. “But —”</p><p>“<em>Is that clear</em>?”</p><p>Laurent swallowed. He looked away, abashed, and nodded at the gleaming tiles.</p><p>Al left the dining room, his footsteps thundering down the hallway.</p><p>Auguste sighed after a while. “Oh, Laurent,” he said, tone flat and disappointed. “Why do you always feel the need to egg him on?”</p><p>Laurent whirled on his brother, outraged. “Oh, the twist of the century — you taking Al’s side as usual!”</p><p>Auguste’s eyes turned dark, his mouth tightening into a severe line. “I’m not taking anyone’s side. I’m just saying you shouldn’t —”</p><p>Laurent didn’t want to hear it. It was always the same argument, just a different day.</p><p>“Why don’t you just go and fucking marry Al since the two of you are you are completely obsessed with each other,” Laurent snapped, and it was loud enough for the guards to shift uncomfortably in the entrance.</p><p>Auguste looked livid. “Enough, Laurent.”</p><p>He sounded so much like Al, Laurent could have throttled him. He hated it when Auguste was like this, as though Laurent was an ungrateful child he had been forced to look after. Laurent hated them both in that moment.</p><p>“I think Father is right,” Auguste finally said, “You need to grow up.”</p><p>He stood up, dusting off his jacket, and left the dining room.</p><p>When, exactly, was it Laurent’s turn to storm out of a room? He was getting tired of being left behind.</p><p>*</p><p>With Al and Auguste preoccupied with the foreign parties, it would have been easy for Laurent to sneak out of his room, except he kept remembering Al’s face, Auguste’s words, and then Laurent was rooted to the spot, shame rolling off him in waves.</p><p>So, he stayed in his room, head pressed against the window, watching the sun set over the Arles Forest, wondering what excuse Al had come up with to explain Laurent’s absence. He could imagine the noblemen and delegates smirking, laughing to themselves as they joked about Laurent’s body, his sex life. It churned Laurent’s stomach.</p><p>The room grew dark, but Laurent didn’t move to turn on the lights. Like this, he could imagine himself disappearing, not bothering anyone ever again.</p><p>He must have fallen asleep; Laurent woke up with a jerk, disorientated, when he heard the knocks on the door At first, he felt frightened, worried about an attack. Then he realised how ridiculous he was being; it was probably Auguste, ready to apologise — well, not apologise, since Auguste never did, but he usually bought Laurent snacks after an argument.</p><p>Laurent wiped the drool off his face, blinked the sleep out his eyes, turned on the light and opened the door.</p><p>It was not Auguste.</p><p>Damianos said, “I really, really need to talk to you.”</p><p>“Um,” said Laurent, still confused with sleep. For a moment, he thought he might be dreaming, but the last time he had dreamt of Damianos, he had been punched. He shook himself more awake. Damianos was wearing a casual, fitted outfit: a smart, pale blue button down and slacks the colour of sand. It was an unusual colour palette; Veretians, in general, preferred darker, richer colours but on Damianos it looked… He looked…</p><p>“Can I please come in?” Damianos said. There was something demanding, yet placating about his tone.</p><p>Laurent said, “Here?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Laurent looked past Damianos, to the hall, where Jord and Lazar, and one of Damianos’ guards, were all pretending not to listen to them.</p><p>“Um,” said Laurent, again. “I don’t think it’s appropriate.”</p><p>Damianos nodded. “Then shall we head to the courtyard?”</p><p>“I —” Laurent stopped. He thought of saying yes. And then he remembered Al, and swallowed down bile. He was so tired he could barely think. He stepped aside. “Come in, then.”</p><p>Damianos told his guard to remain outside and then walked into Laurent’s room, head held high.</p><p>Laurent closed the door, rested his forehead on the back of it and took a deep breath. If he was going to die, at least it was in the same place where he had sucked cock and fucked men to his heart’s content.</p><p>When he turned down, Damianos was staring at him with unreadable eyes, arms crossed. God, now <em>these </em>were muscles. They made Guymar’s assistant’s arms look like toothpicks.</p><p>Damianos wasted no time. He said, “Your Highness, are you aware there has been a serious amount of false information spreading about the nature of our relationship?”</p><p>“Hmm?” said Laurent.</p><p>“There’s a rumour that we are courting, soon to be wed. I’ve had six Ambassadors ask me when our wedding will happen.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>“Yesterday at lunch, Ambassador Radel, whom I hold in high regard, accused me of being unfaithful to you because I denied these rumours.”</p><p><em>Oh, bless Radel’s heart</em>, thought Laurent. Out loud, he said, “Hmm.”</p><p>Damianos’ eyebrows furrowed. “And <em>now </em>there are rumours that I — that we — we…” Damianos flushed, lowering his voice, “had sex in the patio while my Kyroi placed bets on who would… finish first.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>Damianos threw up his hands. “Prince Laurent, are you even listening to me?”</p><p>“Hmm,” said Laurent, aware that his brain was shutting down. He had no clue what to say. This was exactly like last summer, when Michael, the senior in his class, had discovered that Laurent had also been fucking his brother Henri, except that had been solved fairly quickly when Laurent let the both of them fuck him at the same time.</p><p>He didn’t think Damianos would appreciate that particular tactic.</p><p>It had been silent for too long. Laurent needed to say something, quick. Should he recount a fact about penguins? That seemed like a good idea, only Laurent didn’t know any facts about penguins.</p><p>Shit, Damianos was looking at him. Couldn’t he just… close his eyes for a few days while Laurent thought of something?</p><p>Laurent said, “Hmm.”</p><p>Damianos peered at him. “I think,” he said slowly, the way one would speak to a child who had just spent the last forty minutes trying to put a triangle block into a square shaped hole, “we should publicly address these rumours together. We need to let everyone, especially the delegates, know that not only are these rumours false, but also <em>incredibly </em>inappropriate”</p><p>Laurent thought of what Al’s face and what he would do if he and Damianos denied their relationship. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out a panicked, “No!”</p><p>Damianos stilled. The realisation flooding onto his face would have been hilarious in literally any other situation.</p><p>The silence carried out in Laurent’s barren room. Then in a quiet voice, Damianos said, “Prince Laurent… were <em>you</em> the one that started these rumours?”</p><p>Laurent was not good under pressure. It was partly why Al didn’t like it when he attended Council meetings or spoke with Ambassadors for too long on his own.</p><p>Now, with Damianos staring at him with dark eyes and a serious mouth he said, “Please don’t kill me.”</p><p>“I’m not going to kill you,” Damianos said, incredulously, like it was the last thing he had expected Laurent to say.</p><p>“Right, but I’m sure at some point, every murderer has said that. So. Don’t. Kill me, that is.”</p><p>Damianos closed his eyes. “Could you please explain from the beginning.”</p><p>Laurent stalled. Or at least tried to. But without quite meaning to, the words came out in a rush. He blamed Damianos’ muscles. Under normal circumstances, they would make Laurent sweat in a good way — now he was dreading being crushed to death under them.</p><p>His whole story took about a minute to relay. As Laurent talked, he realised how ridiculous and irrational he had been — but every time he tried to explain how genuinely terrified he had been of Al, his threats, his throat closed off, and he felt like a little boy, playing make believe with his favourite celebrity crush.</p><p>Afterwards, Damianos regarded him in jarring silence. All he said was, “I see,” stony and cold.</p><p>Laurent winced. He closed his eyes, swallowed. “Listen… if you’re going to kill me now, can you give me like… half an hour to prepare? I want to die wearing my favourite Burberry suit. And I want to order some salted caramel ice cream as my last meal.”</p><p>“I’m not going to kill you, Laurent,” Damianos said, though he looked furious, eyes stormy. “But what you’ve done is… not right.”</p><p>Somehow, this was worse than being yelled at by Al and Auguste.</p><p>Laurent nodded, wanting to die.</p><p>“You’re…” Damianos shook his head, his expression shrivelling into something unreadable. “I need time to process this.”</p><p>Laurent nodded again. Al was going to marry him off tomorrow with no hesitation, and Auguste would call him ungrateful for this whole charade. Everyone was going to hate him, more than usual.</p><p>He had to clench his jaw to keep himself from crying from embarrassment, from anger; still, his eyes watered, and he had to duck his head to keep from Damianos seeing.</p><p>Damianos moved past him to leave; Laurent tensed as he came close, but Damianos made no move to touch him, let alone hurt him.</p><p>As the door clicked shut, Laurent realised his mistake. He should have pushed Damianos into killing him, because in the morning, Al would do much worse.</p><p>
  
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you all for being so patient with me; im sorry i havent responded to your wonderful comments, but will do so now. i know the wait for this chapter was long, but i now have a steady-ish schedule, and am planning to update every saturday (even tho its sunday rn lmao)</p><p>PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE check out the end notes in the previous chapter for some AMAZING art work by @babyephant!!! you will not be disappointed!!!!</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Flowers.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the morning, after only three hours of poor sleep, one of the servants informed Laurent that the King had requested his presence for breakfast.</p><p>Laurent stopped brushing his hair. “Which King?” Then he said, “Actually, no, don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter. Both options are terrible.” He paused. “No, I change my mind. You can tell me. Wait! Don’t say it outright. Just give me a hint. A super small one.”</p><p>“I —”</p><p>“No, don’t say anything!” Laurent said quickly. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. “Okay, okay. Let’s — Just. What colour are his eyes?”</p><p>“Brown, Your Highness.”</p><p>Laurent frowned, thinking. “Well, that’s not very helpful. They both have brown eyes. Why even bother offering me such useless information? It’s completely unnecessary.”</p><p>“I — Well —”</p><p>“Please don’t waste any more of my time,” Laurent said. “You may go now.”</p><p>As the servant left, still babbling apologies, Laurent considered staying put. What would Al do if he just sat here for the rest of eternity? Damianos could probably barge in here and kill him, yes, but Al? Al would just… yell obscenities about his character through the door until Laurent would feel so horrible, he’d get those aching, crippling stomach cramps.</p><p>Somehow, that seemed worse than death. Al had the tendency to know exactly how to demoralise Laurent.</p><p>In the end, Laurent decided to go, but only because he knew the chefs had prepared fresh pain au chocolate and buckwheat crepes for breakfast. It wasn’t Laurent’s fault that chocolate, particularly in the morning, was his weakness. He was half Kemptian; the land where chocolate was invented, so really it was in his blood to be obsessed with it.</p><p>The servants led him to the Blue Dining Room, which was a good sign. The Blue Dining Room was strictly for informal family meals. It had been renovated under Hennike’s direction and design, right after her marriage to Al, but that wasn’t why Laurent favoured it. It was the sunniest room in the Palace; even in weak, wintery sun, slabs of light brightened the place, making the shade of blue on the walls — Annalise Blue — pop. The shade was also remarkably close — maybe almost an exact match — to Hennike and Laurent’s eye colour. Whenever Laurent was seated in that room, eating, it always felt like Hennike was there, too, watching over him.</p><p>It wasn’t a thought he dared voice out loud. If he told Auguste, Auguste would give Laurent a long look, torn between pitying and uncomfortable. If he told Al, they would probably never sit, let alone eat, in the blue room ever again.</p><p>Al and Auguste were already eating when Laurent arrived. Neither looked up when he entered. They were discussing Vaskian trade principles. Laurent didn’t know much about it because he had been declined entry into the meeting several months ago; Al had been angry at Laurent for doing coke in the bathroom at Lord Berenger’s estate. Laurent didn’t even think it was the coke Al had had issue with, but the fact that Laurent had done it with Ancel, Berenger’s partner, who was rumoured to be a camboy.</p><p>“I can’t confirm or deny whether I am,” Ancel had said when Laurent asked about it. “But if you want to start doing it, I know some people.”</p><p>“Do you think I should?” Laurent had said, curious.</p><p>“Definitely,” Ancel nodded. “You have a great body. But if you don’t want to start off going completely nude, I know a tonne of guys obsessed with feet.”</p><p>Laurent had shut down the conversation after that.</p><p>A plate was placed in front of him, piled high with fruit, chocolate syrup and crepes. Laurent hesitated. He cast his eyes over to Al, who had yet to look at him, or acknowledge him. That was… hopeful. Al ignoring him was normal. It usually meant that he was in a good mood. Perhaps Damianos had not said anything yet: a small mercy.  </p><p>But… Auguste wasn’t looking over either. Auguste was the only person in the Palace who gave Laurent any sort of attention, and now he wasn’t. He was just… sitting there, exactly three seats away, acting as though Laurent didn’t exist.</p><p>Was he still mad about yesterday? Auguste had said much, much worse to Laurent over the years, and Laurent didn’t behave like this with him afterwards.</p><p>(Well, except for the time Laurent drove over Auguste’s Cartier sunglasses. (That had been warranted, though: Auguste had said Laurent’s taste in shoes was ‘weird’)).</p><p>Laurent bit into his crepe, tasting nothing. He felt sick, his chest squeezing and compressing in on itself. It was what normally happened before he had a panic.</p><p>Laurent gripped his fork tight, pressing the tips of his toes down onto the flooring, trying to breathe.</p><p>Auguste hadn’t been home in eight months, and now here he was, resolutely ignoring Laurent.</p><p>Laurent wanted to leave. It was unbearable being here.</p><p>When he made to stand up, though, breakfast mostly untouched, Al said. “Stop.”</p><p>Laurent sat down, his palms sweating.</p><p>Al said, “I am allowing you to attend all the events scheduled for this afternoon, Laurent.”</p><p>Auguste was still eating breakfast. He was staring out the window every now and then, looking over the lawn, like it was the most fascinating thing.</p><p>“Well?” said Al.</p><p>Laurent nodded, throat tight. “Yes. Thank you.”</p><p>“I don’t think I need to tell you what will happen if I catch you doing anything untoward.”</p><p>“Yes. Of course.”</p><p>Al frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”</p><p>Laurent thought about it. “I don’t know. Last year, when I was seeing Cormac, he said I had knobbly knees which made me sad for a few weeks. I hadn’t even considered that my knees would be something that was —”</p><p>“That’s enough,” said Al, sharply.</p><p>Laurent quieted. Auguste was still looking out the window. What was out there, anyway?</p><p>The sick feeling was back. “Can I please be excused?”</p><p>Al’s frown creased deeper even as he returned to his food. “I don’t see why you’re suddenly begging for permission. As I recall, you’ve never had a problem leaving and going as you please.”</p><p>“Yes,” said Laurent, barley listening to Al.</p><p>Laurent stood up. His legs were shaking as he hurried out of the dining room, the blue blinding in his peripheral.</p><p>*</p><p>The scheduled event in the afternoon was an art exhibition in the Arles Contemporary Museum. It was torturous. There was only so long Laurent could stare at a painting of a weeping child. Laurent wept all the time. There were no paintings of <em>him </em>doing so because he wasn’t a narcissistic, egomaniacal —</p><p>“I know your secret.”</p><p>Laurent jumped. At his elbow, Nicaise had appeared, looking smug, his thin lips curled into a smirk that looked satanical.</p><p>“Ugh,” said Laurent, rolling his eyes. He pulled his elbows tighter in on himself; he was wearing a limited edition Prada blazer and from experience, he knew Nicaise always had sticky fingers. “What do you want?”</p><p>Nicaise was a terror. He was also the sole reason Laurent firmly held the stance that royals shouldn’t mix with commoners in any capacity. Laurent’s great aunt had adopted Nicaise from an orphanage — a normal, <em>common </em>orphanage — fifteen years ago and he had been like a terrible cockroach in their family ever since. Laurent had tried to sell him on eBay when he was eight, and to no one’s surprise, there had been zero bids.</p><p>Al had grounded Laurent for a whole month when he found out. Auguste had laughed and said: “Next time, don’t write ‘demon baby’ in the title.”</p><p>Now, Nicaise grinned at him, his tacky, sapphire earring catching in the light. “I <em>said </em>I know your secret.”</p><p>Laurent tensed. Did Nicaise know that he had lost his grandfather’s pocket watch last month? Or worse: did he know that Laurent had let Lazar sit on the throne as Laurent had ridden him? If Al ever found out that he had sat in the same place where Lazar’s naked ass had been —</p><p>“You’re not with the King of Akielos, are you?” Nicaise said.</p><p>Oh no, <em>this</em> was definitely worse.</p><p>Laurent turned back to the awful painting. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>Nicaise cackled, the sound ringing around them. “You’re such a shit liar.”</p><p>There was no need to panic. Nicaise was a gremlin who also believed that Laurent was a virgin, so it was always hard to take him seriously.</p><p>Laurent glared at him. “Will you fuck off? I’m trying to appreciate —” He squinted at the plaque next to the painting. “Mr Audin’s painting.”</p><p>Nicaise laughed again. “He looks at you like you stepped in shit. And I heard him talking to the Kyros about how standing next to you for official photos might give off the wrong message.”</p><p>“How the fuck would you know? You don’t know any Akielon.”</p><p>Nicaise looked affronted. “Yes, I do. It’s my elective at school. And I have a tutor.”</p><p>Laurent peered down at him, incensed. Why hadn’t Al ever gotten him a tutor?</p><p>“I think you should fire the idiot since whatever he’s taught you is nonsense.”</p><p>“You’re just angry because Damianos <em>and </em>Auguste are best friends now and neither will pay attention to you.”</p><p>Laurent stiffened. At the end of the long, wide marble hallway, there was a small cluster of delegates surrounding Auguste and Damianos. Damianos laughed, a full bodied kind, at something Auguste said, and everyone around them followed suit.</p><p>Nicaise followed his gaze, still smirking. “See? Your supposed boyfriend doesn’t give a shit about you. He’s been avoiding you all day.”</p><p>It was a half-truth. Laurent had been doing most of the avoiding. After last night, there was no way he could face Damianos with any sort of dignity. And it was clear that Damianos had decided that not engaging with Laurent, rather than killing him, was going to be his strategy for the rest of his trip. That was fine by Laurent: he wanted to die on silk sheets, wearing diamonds, as all his lovers fought for the privilege to kiss him one last time.</p><p>He knew the Ambassadors were also beginning to become suspicious. Laurent had seen them whispering, expressions shrewd and shrivelled as their gazes had shifted from Damianos and then Laurent.</p><p>Damianos did not behave as a lover might, even for a prudish Akielon. His eyes never lingered on Laurent, there were no reverent gazes, and he acted as though being within a few feet of Laurent was the worst possible form of physical torture.</p><p>Laurent didn’t grace Niacaise with a response. The child was an idiot and the more Laurent stared at his earring, he hated it.</p><p>He glared at him once more, then turned away, walking towards the group of women admiring a painted sculpture of a man in silver plated armour.</p><p>He tapped his great aunt on the shoulder. She technically wasn’t really his great aunt; in truth no one knew how she was related to the royal family, but she had been a part of the family for so long that nobody questioned it anymore. Also, she was incredibly intimidating. Laurent suspected that Al was afraid of her too, but whenever Laurent mentioned it Al’s went red and wide eyed.</p><p>“Oh hello, Laurent,” she said now. “You have a stain on your elbow.”</p><p>Laurent looked down in shock. Sure enough, there were five distinct finger-shaped grease spots on the elbow of his blazer. He made a noise, halfway through a gasp and a grunt.</p><p>Infuriated, Laurent said, “Do you remember when you fired your driver all those weeks ago because he had weed in the backseat of his car? Well, that weed wasn’t his. It was Nicaise’s. He’s a grade A stoner.”</p><p>Behind him, Nicaise yelled, “You <em>fucking </em>piece of <em>fuck</em> —”</p><p>“<em>Nicaise</em>!” His mother hissed, eyes darting in embarrassment to her companions. “Come here right now.”</p><p>Nicaise made his way over, wary. When his mother grabbed him by his hand and dragged him off, he cast Laurent a look of pure hatred, eyes dark.</p><p>Laurent waved at him and stuck out his tongue.</p><p>He laughed to himself, pleased. It had been a while since he had felt this delighted.</p><p>When he turned back to the main exhibit, Damianos was watching him.</p><p>He was by himself, and he had come closer, so that he was right next to the painting of the crying child.</p><p>Damianos stood tall, hands behind his back as he regarded Laurent with a curious expression.</p><p>Laurent’s breath caught. He broke his gaze, flushed with embarrassment.</p><p>He decided to check out the paintings on the other end of the hallway.</p><p>*</p><p>Auguste didn’t speak to him for the rest of the afternoon, or on the way back to the Palace. He was on his phone, pretending to text. Laurent knew he was pretending because Auguste was one of those weirdos who preferred to call over text.</p><p>Al wasn’t riding with them; it was a royal rule that the King and his heirs could never travel together. Most days Laurent was grateful for that because it meant he and Auguste could speak freely, but now, Laurent would have preferred to have Al’s voice in his ears, berating him for this, or that, or the other thing, or maybe that issue.</p><p>Laurent’s palms were getting warm and sweaty, and there was a prickling at the back of his nape.</p><p>He had to resist the urge to shake Auguste just so they could make eye contact.</p><p>Laurent felt sick. He was going to throw up.</p><p>As soon as the car parked in the underground driveway, Laurent left without a backwards glance. He practically sprinted down the lawn, past the fountain and the chipped statue of his great-great-great grandmother. She was one of Laurent’s personal heroes. A renowned Veretian historian had written a biography on her years ago, and there had been one whole segment called <em>Queen Raimunde’s Secret Whorish Tendencies. </em></p><p>Al had threatened to sue but Laurent had personally thought that particular part was very well written.</p><p>Laurent made it to the edge of the lawn. Jord and Lazar, stationed at the guard’s entrance, made to follow him.</p><p>Laurent stopped them with a shake of his head. “No. I want to be alone for a few minutes.”</p><p>In the stables, Shakespeare whickered when he saw him.</p><p>Laurent shrugged off his blazer and kissed his horse’s nose, fingers trailing over his mane. He knew he couldn’t go riding; the next official event was occurring in a few hours: dinner, in the coveted King’s dining hall.</p><p>They used that room once a year, if not less. It was why Laurent favoured it for quick fucks: there was always a guarantee that no one would walk in.</p><p>“Hello.”</p><p>Laurent stilled, then groaned. “Oh my god.” He buried his face into Shakespeare’s neck. “I can’t deal with this right now.”</p><p>From the corner of his eye, Laurent could see Damianos give him a small smile. “Is he yours?”</p><p>Laurent pulled his face back, frowning. “Yes.”</p><p>Damianos reached out to pet Shakespeare’s back, still smiling. “He’s lovely.”</p><p>Laurent stared.</p><p>Damianos turned stunning brown eyes on him. He had a dimple. “I’ve been reading about you all day,” he said, tone casual. “You’re quite mad, you know.”</p><p>Laurent glared, mouth dropping open. “<em>Excuse me</em>?”</p><p>Damianos shrugged. “You are. There’s an entire section on your Wikipedia page called ‘public scandals’. It’s over a thousand words long.”</p><p>“Um,” said Laurent.</p><p>“I haven’t told anyone about anything you told me last night.”</p><p>Laurent nodded. “Smart. Now you won’t be considered a suspect or anything when I die because there’s no motive.”</p><p>“No that’s not why —” Damianos cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”</p><p>“Which part?”</p><p>“The part where we… court publicly.”</p><p>Laurent whirled on him. “What?” His heard was thudding, his vision blurring at the edges.</p><p>“I think it would be a good idea,” Damianos said, reasonable, calm.</p><p>Laurent frowned. There had to be a catch. Perhaps Damianos was luring him into a false sense of security, and the moment he turned, he would be attacked.</p><p>“I don’t believe you,” Laurent said. “Statistically, eight out ten ideas I have are good ones. And I’ve already filled that quota: I bought a 1954 Ferrari and I bought Chanel boots.”</p><p>“You have a Ferrari?” Damen said. “What colour?”</p><p>“Red, obviously. I’m not an idiot.”</p><p>Damen nodded, smiling. “My dad didn’t like Ferraris much. He said they were like a woman’s —”</p><p>“What are you doing?” Laurent said. He felt wrongfooted. “What is this? Are you distracting me with this weird conversation so I don’t notice the assassin behind me?” He turned around, staring at the clear stable and lawn.</p><p>When he turned back to Damianos, he was met with a strange expression. “You’re very obsessed with getting murdered.”</p><p>“What do you want?”</p><p>Damianos said, “I told you. I think it would be a good idea for us to… continue your plan.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>At this, Damianos shifted. “Ah, well.”</p><p>There were a few beats of uncomfortable silence.</p><p>“Well?” Laurent prompted. Shakespeare whickered softly. Laurent stroked his face soothingly.</p><p>“I —” For a moment, Damianos floundered. “Well, I.” He lowered his voice. “Can you keep a secret?”</p><p>“It depends,” Laurent said, thinking of Nicaise.</p><p>Damianos stared at him, seemingly weighing his options. Finally, with hesitance, he said, “I’m currently seeing someone my Kyroi do not approve of.” He paused, mouth pursing. “I think… if I were to say that I was dating you, then in comparison, my — then Jo — would look more suitable.”</p><p>Laurent’s mouth dropped open. He knew it was an unattractive look, but he couldn’t help it: the shock he felt was monumental.</p><p>“Excuse me?” Laurent said, his voice like cut glass.</p><p>Damianos swallowed. “Ah, sorry. That’s not what I meant —”</p><p>“What did you mean then? Because to me it sounded like you’re labelling me as lesser than your girlfriend. You realise I’m a <em>prince</em>, yes? Unless your girlfriend is the Queen of Vask, which is not possible since she’s like, sixty and a lesbian, then I outrank this <em>Jo </em>by a mile.”</p><p>“Well, not lesser,” Damianos said. “But — you have a reputation for being —”</p><p>“A slut?”</p><p>Damianos’ eyes widened. “No!” He sounded horrified. “Just — a wild child. And my Kyroi doesn’t like you much. I mean — shit. Obviously, they like you. You’re great. But there’s a —”</p><p>“You know what,” Laurent said coldly. “I think I’m just going to take my chances and marry whichever Lord my father sets me up with. It’s starting to seem like the better option at this point.”</p><p>Damianos winced. “I — yes. I deserved that.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck.  “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to cause any offence. I’ll — I’ll see you at the dinner?”</p><p>“Maybe,” Laurent said.</p><p>Damianos nodded, abashed. “Okay. I’ll go now.”</p><p>“You do that,” Laurent said flatly, turning back to Shakespeare.</p><p>*</p><p>Laurent didn’t attend the dinner. Al snapped at him through his bedroom door, but Laurent pretended to sleep.</p><p>Afterwards, he sucked Jord’s cock and felt a little better.</p><p>Then he spent the rest of the night thinking of how unfair his life was, and whether Al — or his new husband — would let him collab with <em>Charls </em>or not.</p><p>It didn’t seem likely.</p><p>*</p><p>At breakfast the next day, as Laurent was finishing up his meal — nothing with chocolate, unfortunately — three of the Akielon members of staff stepped through, holding a large, weighty bouquet of pale pink Juliet roses. It was so big, they all seemed to be struggling to carry it, staggering under its weight, and the double doors had to be opened completely wide.</p><p>Laurent’s eyes widened. He swallowed his heart, which had leapt up to his throat.</p><p>Auguste and Al were watching on too, twinned expressions of shock etched onto their faces.</p><p>The staff placed the bouquet in front of Laurent.</p><p>“From the King of Akielos,” one of them said, bowing his head.</p><p>Laurent stared, mouth open. His eyes widened further when Al said, “That’s nice.”</p><p>He showed his teeth, then went back to his meal.</p><p>Laurent dropped his fork.</p><p>*</p><p>Laurent found Damianos out by the lake, a few minutes before a Council meeting was scheduled to start.</p><p>He was staring out across the water, smoking.</p><p>Laurent approached him, and Damianos quickly snubbed out his cigarette.</p><p>Before he could say anything, Laurent said, “Fine.”</p><p>“Fine?”</p><p>“Yes,” Laurent said. “We should… do that.”</p><p>“Court publicly?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Damianos smiled, his teeth straight and white, cheek dimpling. “Okay.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Dinner.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Laurent was, of course, banned from the Council meeting — for a reason he couldn’t remember — so he didn’t follow Damianos down the lawn towards the hall where it was being held.</p><p>But before Damianos left, he said, “Wait for me.” in a tone that brooked little argument. It was pretty hot.</p><p>Laurent spent the duration of the meeting inside the stables, brushing Shakespeare’s mane. He could tell when the meeting finished: Lord Felix and Ambassador Radel strolled out onto the lawn, smoking cigars, even though it was just past eleven in the morning.</p><p>Auguste was there, too, although he wasn’t smoking. He seemed to be engaged in a serious discussion with them, and had probably not thought of Laurent all day. Which was fine. Totally fine. Laurent was a-okay with that fact. Completely. Yes. Great.</p><p>Damianos was waiting for him in the entrance of the stables.</p><p>Laurent saw him and froze. He gripped Shakespeare’s mane too tightly; Shakespeare shook him off, disgruntled.</p><p>“Hey,” said Damianos.</p><p>Laurent nodded in response, lips pressed together. That sick feeling he got when Auguste ignored him was back, except Damianos was not ignoring him — he was paying attention to him. So Laurent was doomed if being ignored <em>and</em> having attention were destabilising him. Maybe he should move further up north to Kempt; it would be easy to stay inside by himself if all the men had those horrid moustaches like Auguste did.</p><p>“I like your coat,” said Damianos when Laurent stepped out of Shakespeare’s stable.</p><p>Laurent sniffed. “Well, you’d be stupid not to. It’s Burberry.”</p><p>Damianos nodded. “Yeah, I know. From their last fall/winter collection, right?”</p><p>Laurent stared.</p><p>“…Yes,” he said after a while, but his voice came out small, a little strangled.</p><p>“It’s nice.”</p><p>“Thank you,” said Laurent, aware that men being nice to him usually meant a trap of some sort was coming.</p><p>“Do you want to go for a walk?”</p><p>And there it was. Laurent huffed, eyebrows furrowing. “Are you saying I’m fat and that I need to exercise? Because I’ll have you know I exercise plenty. Probably even too much, considering —”</p><p>“No! No. I mean.” Damianos visibly reeled himself in and said, “Let’s just walk around the Gardens for a few minutes.”</p><p>Laurent considered saying no; he truly didn’t feel like going on a walk right now.</p><p>Then he saw, from the corner of his eye, Auguste walking across the lawn, towards them. Well — towards Damianos. And Laurent felt a swell of pettiness. He didn’t want Auguste coming over here, ignoring him, acting buddy-buddy with Damianos.</p><p>So, he said, “Yes. Quick.”</p><p>Laurent left the stables, sidestepping Damianos and marched down the lawn. It was demeaning how quickly Damianos caught up with him.</p><p>In the sun, Damianos looked amazing. His curls were fluffy, bouncy, and his skin was nut-brown, smooth, except for the lines around his eyes, but somehow it only served to make him seem more youthful. He was wearing a suit today, a grey linen one that was tailored impeccably.</p><p>Laurent realised, quite suddenly, that Damianos was probably the most handsome man he’d ever known. And Laurent knew plenty of handsome men — he owned a mirror after all.</p><p>Damianos said, “Did you like the flowers?”</p><p>“Yes. Obviously,” Laurent said, then paused. “But I like cars more. You should know that, for future reference.”</p><p>Damianos frowned. “Why? I’m not going to buy you a car anytime soon.”</p><p>For a moment, Laurent seriously regretted choosing Damianos as his faux lover. He should have picked Stanley, the accountant Al had briefly hired, who was sketchy and liked fast cars. He had also been terrible in bed. But — Al had hated him, so Laurent would have been shipped away long ago if they started dating seriously.</p><p>They walked in silence towards the lake. It was a nice day, perfect for an outdoor photoshoot — something Laurent was also banned from doing. (A renowned Patran photographer had offered to shoot Laurent nude when he turned eighteen, and although Laurent had rejected him, Al feared that now that the idea had been put into Laurent’s head, it would happen eventually).</p><p>Damianos peered out into the water and the flowers lining the bed. “So,” he said, after a long, uncomfortable pause. “I think we should talk in detail about our courting.”</p><p>“Yes,” agreed Laurent, briefly distracted by Damianos’ biceps, which were literal watermelons. It made Laurent crave watermelon.</p><p>“Jo thinks we should be photographed somewhere in public, so it creates a buzz, gets people talking, that kind of thing.”</p><p>“Who the fuck is Jo?” said Laurent.</p><p>“Jok — Jo. My girlfriend.” Damianos squinted at him. “I mentioned her literally an hour ago.”</p><p>Laurent shrugged. “It doesn’t ring a bell. Explain again. Please,” he added, when he remembered how large and threatening Damianos was.</p><p>Damianos’ sighed, long and loud. “Jo is my girlfriend. But my Kyroi didn’t approve of us dating… because of certain reasons.”</p><p>“What reasons?” Laurent said, immediately intrigued. “Is she a porn star?”</p><p>“What?!”</p><p>“Oh. Right.” Laurent nodded sombrely. “Some of them prefer to be called an ‘adult entertainer’”. Laurent knew this because he may or may not have been briefly involved with an… adult entertainer.</p><p>“She’s not a…” Damianos took another deep breath. “Look. How about I talk, and you don’t interrupt while I speak?”</p><p>“Fine,” Laurent said sulkily, in an attempt to hide how Damianos’ commanding tone was sort of getting him going.</p><p>“So. Jo and I were dating for a while, which the Kyroi heavily disapproved of. <em>Not </em>because she was… an entertainer.” Damianos hastily added. “But they were, unfortunately, valid reasons. So, we broke up. Except we didn’t really. We’ve been secretly dating for the last year or so. And I’ve been trying to show the Kyroi that she’s a suitable option for me, which has proven to be disastrous for a while now.”</p><p>Damianos’ eyes drifted to the water again. “Anyway, when the rumours about our relationship started, I told Jo about it and she suggested that maybe I should go along with it, because if my Kyroi now see that I’m dating <em>you </em>— er… not that you… not that there’s anything <em>wrong</em> —”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Laurent said, knowing that he was interrupting, but he decided that the risk was worth it.</p><p>Damianos cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. Like I was saying, if I was dating someone with your, uh, particular reputation, then Jo’s wouldn’t seem so bad, in comparison. So. I think she’s right — we should be seen in public together so my Kyroi can just…”</p><p>“Not stick their nose in your business anymore?”</p><p>Damianos gave him a small smile. “They’re right to have concerns. But, essentially, yes.”</p><p>Laurent tried to process all this new information.</p><p>When Laurent had first come up with this plan, he had never envisioned the King of Akielos actually being a part of it… which was why he had thought it had been a brilliant, fool-proof idea.</p><p>Now that Damianos wanted to engage in it, Laurent was, for the first time, beginning to realise the monumental stupidity of… everything.</p><p>It was improbable to pretend to be in a relationship with a man who already had a girlfriend. It sounded like the synopsis of a Nora Ephron movie — except a Nora Ephron movie from a parallel universe where everything and everyone sucked all the time. Not that Laurent particularly liked Nora Ephron movies in <em>this</em> timeline, although the one about cooking was pretty good, but only because Laurent’s only memory of watching it involved eating a sushi party platter alone during it.</p><p>“Um,” said Laurent. “Why don’t you just <em>tell </em>your Kyroi we’re together? And we can hang out together during this trip in front of all the delegates. That’ll create a buzz.”</p><p>“I —” Damianos paused. Then he seemed to consider it. “I suppose.”</p><p>“Great. Can we try that first?”</p><p>“Okay,” Damianos agreed, though he still looked unsure. “But Jo’s idea is —”</p><p>Laurent cut off Damen. “Look. The only reason I came up with this… scheme was because I wanted to do my own thing without Al breathing down my neck like usual.”</p><p>“Who’s Al?”</p><p>“My — the King of Vere.”</p><p>“You call your father Al?”</p><p>Laurent bristled at his tone. Coldly, he said, “It’s his name, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Well —”</p><p>“Look,” Laurent said again. “You tell your Kyroi that we’re together now. My council already knows so I’m probably just going to hang out at the spa for the next hour or so. And then we can… live our lives. Yes?”</p><p>“Yes,” said Damianos slowly. He squinted at Laurent. “You’re really… something else.”</p><p>Laurent preened. “Thank you.”</p><p>Damianos made a noise, something between a snort and a sigh. It was a very Al-like sound.</p><p>“So,” Laurent said after another long, uncomfortable pause. “I’m going to go.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Laurent tried to give him a small smile but didn’t think he quite managed it. “Thanks. For helping me out with this.”</p><p>Damianos nodded. “Thank you too… despite your unconventional methods.”</p><p>Laurent frowned. He said, “Okay,” again, just because he was determined to have the last word.</p><p>*</p><p>A few hours later, Laurent was in the throne room, where some sort of buffet had been set up. Seriously, a <em>buffet</em>. How Al had gone through more than fifty years of his life without knowing how to hold a decent party was beyond him. The food wasn’t even good; it was all cheap stuff, like lobsters, caviar, and crab. Ugh.</p><p>Laurent piled some pastries onto his plate, pinching a particularly deflated one between his fingers with distaste.</p><p>Damianos was in the corner, talking to the Kyros of Delpha. When he saw Laurent watching him, he gave him a smile that Laurent was too stunned to return and came to stand next to him along the table. “Hey.”</p><p>“Hello,” said Laurent politely. “Don’t eat the crab. Michelle always pours this weird sauce on it and it tastes awful.”</p><p>“Oh, thanks.” Damianos gave him another smile, wide and toothy.</p><p>Laurent frowned. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yes,” Damianos said still smiling, teeth gleaming. Then he leaned closer, until their elbows brushed against each other, his gorgeous face only a couple of inches from Laurent’s.</p><p>Laurent jerked back violently, a few of his pastries falling off his plate, landing by his feet.</p><p>An Akielon delegate looked over, confused. There was confusion scrawled over Daminanos’ face too.</p><p>Laurent knew he was getting red; the colour was traveling over his neck and ears. “Sorry,” Laurent said, after a beat, his heart thudding. “I don’t — I don’t like people touching me.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” said Damianos eyes wide, tone apologetic. “You’re right, that was out of line.”</p><p>“It’s fine.” Laurent said, mouth tight, eyes on the floor.</p><p>“No, really, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“And I said it’s fine,” Laurent said, uncomfortable.</p><p>This time, Laurent expected the awkward silence.</p><p>Damen said, “I really needed to talk to you, actually, if you’re free.”</p><p>Laurent still had three eclairs on his plate. It was very clear that he was not going to free for a while.</p><p>What he said aloud was, “<em>Again</em>? Why?” And then: “Also, that should be your catchphrase.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“‘I need to talk to you’. It’s literally all you’ve said since arriving here.”</p><p>“I — yes.” Damianos’ eyebrows furrowed. He had that look on his face that most men adopted the morning after they spent time with Laurent: puzzled, regretful, dying to get away. Laurent hated the fact that it was such a familiar expression.</p><p>But Damianos didn’t run away or make an excuse about a dying grandparent so he could leave Laurent alone and then ignore his calls for the next three weeks. (That had happened only three times, but Laurent still felt like three times were too many times).</p><p>Damianos said, “Nikandros doesn’t believe we’re together.”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“Nikandros. The Kyros of Delpha. And also, my best friend. So, if he doesn’t believe me, then no one will.”</p><p>Laurent licked some melting chocolate off his thumb. “Why doesn’t he believe you?”</p><p>“Uh…” Damianos wouldn’t meet his eyes. “That’s not really relevant right now.”</p><p>“Was it because you called me a slut?”</p><p>“No! I’d never say something like that. I said… some other words, things you wouldn’t normally say about a…”</p><p>“I got it,” Laurent said darkly.</p><p>He suddenly felt incredibly sad. He was sad that Damianos would talk about him unfavourably, but then realised that most people viewed him that way, including his own brother and father, who hated Laurent so much that he wanted him gone as soon as he had become an adult. Al had not once pressured Auguste about marriage, but here Laurent was, corresponding with a foreign King so he could buy a few months…years? before his poor fate was sealed.</p><p>Laurent sighed. He just wished that Al would… Well, there were a lot of things Laurent wished from Al. It would be a waste to list them all. But if he had to pick <em>one </em>thing, his wish would be for Al to not be Al. Maybe Al could swap lives with George Clooney, or Brad Pitt. Brad Pitt was blonde, so it would probably make more sense if he were Laurent’s father. Except Brad Pitt already had too many children, and Laurent needed someone who would pay attention solely to him. Then again, if Laurent had just one wish, he wouldn’t have wasted it on Al anyway — he would wish for a sheer, sequined gold cape that went with the shade of his eyes and hair.</p><p>“Laurent?”</p><p>Laurent put down his plate. He was getting a little light headed, which happened sometimes before a panic.</p><p>“I don’t know what you want me to do.”</p><p>Damianos looked at him with kind eyes. “Let’s go out and get dinner, tomorrow night.”</p><p>Laurent bit his lip. “I don’t know,” he said, chest tight. “This is really stupid.”</p><p>“It’s definitely something,” Damianos said neutrally.</p><p>Nearly everyone in the room was watching them: Laurent could see Ambassador Raul’s rounded stomach peeking through the curtains behind the buffet table, and Vannes was trying to watch them through the bottom of her champagne glass, as though it were a telescope.</p><p>Laurent realised that Damianos was right: the only people disinterested in them were all Akielon, who were busy with the subpar buffet. One of the Akielon ambassadors was torturing his mouth by eating a lobster roll bite — the kind of terrible food one would expect at a six year old’s birthday party.</p><p>None of the Akielons believed that Laurent and Damen were together — and why would they? Even now, they were metres apart, awkward and fledging, like strangers, because they <em>were </em>strangers and Laurent was so, so stupid —</p><p>He stopped himself before he got too caught up.</p><p>Eventually, Laurent said, “There’s a really good restaurant near Chastillon. I can make a reservation.” He paused. “Well, obviously I won’t be making it. But I have an assistant. Four, actually. One of them will do it.”</p><p>Damianos smiled. His hand hovered, like he was going to touch Laurent’s shoulder, but then stopped, tucking his hands behind his back. He said, “That sounds perfect. Thank you.” He lowered his voice. “I know a photographer. He’s actually based in Arles, so it’ll be easy to get a hold of him.”</p><p>“Oh, okay. Good. That’s… good.”</p><p>They gave each other stiff smiles.</p><p>Laurent turned back to his eclairs. From his peripheral, he could see Damianos hovering. After a while, he took the hint and left Laurent alone to gorge himself on mediocre dessert.</p><p>*</p><p>The next night, as Laurent passed the Green Drawing Room — which had been named after the hellish green tinted painting of Laurent’s grandfather on his coronation day — Al said, “And where do you think you’re going at such a late hour?”</p><p>Laurent tried to stop his sigh. “It’s six in the evening, Al. The sun is still up.”</p><p>Al’s nostrils flared. “You haven’t answered my question. I’ve told you time and time again how much I hate your deflecting.”</p><p>Laurent cast his eyes to the ornately painted ceiling. There were 832 rooms in this Palace, and yet Al and he always seemed to see each other too frequently.</p><p>Laurent said, “I’m going on a date with my — boyfriend? No, lover. Ugh. No. Partner? Um, sexual —”</p><p>“Whatever it is you are trying to say, do so clearly. It’s unprincely to fumble your words.” Al was reading a newspaper, but he hadn’t looked up once to address Laurent. Laurent thought that was much ruder and unprincelier — was that a word? It was now, Laurent decided — than anything Laurent did. Well, minus the drugs and scandals and sex and sex. (Yes, sex needed to be in there twice).</p><p>“I have a date with my… the King of Akielos. Damianos. Maybe you’ve seen him? He’s about this tall,” Laurent went on his tip toes and waved his hand above his head, “and he looks like he could be a bodyguard in a poorly written Hollywood movie.”</p><p>Al finally put away his newspaper and gave Laurent a long, hard look. “Are you planning on proposing tonight, then?”</p><p>Laurent scrunched his nose. He gestured to his slacks. “I can’t get down on my knee in this. It’s a limited edition Brioni.”</p><p>“Will <em>he</em> be proposing tonight, then?” Al said, with barely concealed annoyance.</p><p>“You know, Al, have <em>you</em> considered dating Damianos? You seem unhealthily interested in making him a part of the family.”</p><p>Al’s lips pressed together; it was teetering on the edge of being a bad sign.</p><p>Laurent said quickly, “That was a joke from my stand-up routine. It’s fine. I know you’re not secretly in love with Damianos.”</p><p>“You’re doing a <em>stand-up routine</em>?”</p><p>“No — I.” Laurent stopped. “I’m late. I’m going to go now.”</p><p>Al turned back to his newspaper. “Come back at a reasonable hour.”</p><p>“Like?”</p><p>“If you see the sun in the sky at any point, then you’ve done something wrong.”</p><p>Laurent thought about that. “That’s fair,” he said, and without saying goodbye, walked down the hallway.</p><p>*</p><p><em>Bluebird </em>was a regal, aristocratic restaurant located in a fort that had been gifted from a Vaskian Queen to the second King of Vere, who had been her boy toy. (A <em>side </em>boy toy — it was probably one of Laurent’s favourite snippets of Veretian history).  </p><p>It was one of the best places in Vere. Everything was coated in dark velvet, gold and silver, and there were chandeliers above every table.</p><p>Damianos stared at everything wide-eyed. “This is…”</p><p>“Amazing, right?” Laurent said, grinning.</p><p>“…Yes.”</p><p>There was a small group of waiters at the end of the aisle watching them with timid gazes. Laurent supposed the fact that Damianos needed six bodyguards to trail him, and then Laurent’s own three (because why would Al spend so much on security for the second, unimportant heir) would be a rather intimidating sight to see.</p><p>They were led to a private room on the terrace, which had chandeliers too.</p><p>“You look nice,” Damianos said, after a few, long drawn moments.</p><p>“I know,” said Laurent. They were going to be photographed tonight: he had, naturally, spent six hours getting ready. His suit was fitted enough to leave little to the imagination; Jord had said as much.</p><p>Damianos was wearing a boring white dress shirt and black slacks. It was insultingly low effort, even with his wonderful face, and Laurent was not going to return his compliment.</p><p>They sat in silence for seven and a half minutes before the waiter arrived.</p><p>Addressing Laurent, he said, “Would you like to try the sixteen meal course menu tonight, Your Highness, or your usual thirty two?”</p><p>“Thirty two,” said Laurent smiling.</p><p>“Uh, wait, hold on. I’m sorry,” Damianos said. “<em>Thirty two </em>courses?! How long would that take to eat?”</p><p>“Five to six hours,” Laurent and the waiter said at the same time.</p><p>Damianos looked between them, mouth open. “Let’s just start with sixteen — is that really the smallest number? — okay, fine, sixteen courses first and then see how we go.”</p><p>“As you wish, Your Majesty.”</p><p>Laurent watched the waiter go and threw a frown in Damianos’ direction. “I find it hard to believe you can’t stomach thirty two courses.”</p><p>Damianos mirrored his frown. “Well, in Akielos, we usually have a smaller number of courses, but they’re much richer. I’m guessing half of the courses here are soups?”</p><p>Laurent didn’t say anything. Technically, he was right. There were thirteen soups. Laurent usually needed to go to the bathroom halfway because his bladder got so full. Also, one of the courses was literally three peas and mint sauce — so maybe Damianos had a point about Akielon food being richer, too.</p><p>“When’s your photographer friend coming?” Laurent asked, when the silence stretched for fifteen minutes this time. At least the first and second courses had arrived: a pumpkin puree and avocado soup with crab.</p><p>“He’s already arrived. He’s been taking photos since we left our cars. You didn’t see him crouching behind the bush outside?”</p><p>“Really? Where?” Laurent sat up straight. “Should I pose?”</p><p>“No. They’re going to be candids, like normal paparazzi shots. We’re just two highly affluential people out on a date — and our privacy happened to be violated on said date.”</p><p>“You think I’m affluential?” said Laurent, touched.</p><p>“…Yes.”</p><p>Laurent cleared his throat. “So we just keep eating and talking?”</p><p>Damianos smiled at him. He did that a lot, Laurent realised. It made Laurent feel strange. He wasn’t used to people being kind without wanting something from him — usually sex. It was what Laurent did best, after all.</p><p>“Yes. We keep eating and talking. It’ll be fun.”</p><p>It was not fun.</p><p>After thirty minutes it was clear that neither of them would be talking. They had managed to eat two more courses — more chilled soup, but delicious nonetheless — and no words had been exchanged.</p><p>The Kings’ men and Laurent’s guards were all silent and still, too. It felt like Laurent was trapped inside a museum, except a fake one, filled with wax celebrities and people far less important than Laurent.</p><p>Going to dinner with a beautiful, attractive, handsome man should have felt like heaven. Instead, this particular date was beginning to feel like something people on like, level one of hell endured.</p><p>Damianos smiled at him after course eight and nine, except it was awkward and stiff, the lines around his mouth shrivelling up.</p><p>Oh god, Laurent suddenly thought. All the photos were going to look the exact same: he and Damianos bent over their food like some weird robots who were programmed to do nothing but consume human food so they could inevitably take over the human population.</p><p>Oh god, Laurent thought again.</p><p>At least his hair looked amazing.</p><p>*</p><p>Despite how awesome Laurent’s hair looked, the photos, as Damianos showed him the next morning, were terrible. Worse than terrible. A disaster. Worse than a disaster. Terrible.</p><p>Laurent didn’t know any more synonyms.</p><p>But it was really, really, really bad, like the time Aimeric dyed his hair bubblegum pink even though his complexion was too fair for it and he ended up looking like fairy floss dropped on the sidewalk.</p><p>Laurent scrolled through the photos on Damianos’ phone, shaking his head. They were seated outside, in the Prince’s Courtyard, which overlooked the Forrest and Laurent’s bedroom perfectly.</p><p>“I’m going to say this as nice as I possibly can,” Laurent said, “but is your photographer friend either a child under two years of age or blind? Perhaps he’s a blind child under two years of age.”</p><p>Damianos snorted. “It’s not that bad.”</p><p>“No?” Laurent turned to him, outraged. “How can you say that? Look at this one: it’s literally just a blurry, zoomed in photo of your hand. And this one! Why would you focus on the white tablecloth and nothing else? Oh my <em>god </em>why is my mouth open in every photo? And look at this one: it’s so overexposed it looks like we both died, and this is our funeral photo.”</p><p>Damianos laughed. Laurent liked the sound — and the view, actually — although he didn’t think this was a laughing matter.</p><p>“This is terrible. A disaster,” Laurent said, handing Damianos back his phone. He rubbed a hand over his temple. “I think I’m going to murder your photographer friend. Actually <em>photographer</em> is too generous of a term for him. I have never hated a human being more than this moment, I swear.”</p><p>Damianos laughed again. He was scrolling through the photos with a grimace too. “My god, these <em>do</em> fucking suck.”</p><p>Laurent looked at him in surprise. He felt a smile grow on his own face.</p><p>Damianos showed him one where they both had eyes closed, mouth open, their forks weird, blurry streaks in their hands. They kind of looked like small lightsabres.</p><p>When he told Damianos that, Damianos laughed harder than he had before.</p><p>Laurent thought that maybe he should do a stand-up routine after all.</p><p>“Okay. So, Jo’s plan was a dud. What should we do?” Damianos said, leaning back on his palms, legs stretched out in front of him.</p><p>Laurent had to pinch himself so he didn’t try and sneak a look at his crotch or worse — his thighs. Laurent was a sucker for a good pair of thighs and Damianos had the best thighs on the planet.</p><p>Laurent bit his thumbnail. “I don’t know. Do you know any other photographers? Actually, no, you’ve lost the privilege to recommend photographers.”</p><p>“That’s fair,” said Damianos. “Do you know any? I mean, they seem to follow you everywhere.”</p><p>Laurent shrugged. “I know a tonne of reporters. But I don’t think that counts.”</p><p>They both stopped.</p><p>“Laurent,” said Damianos, smiling.</p><p>Laurent let out a little laugh of disbelief.</p><p>“Why didn’t we think of going to the press first?” Damianos shook his head in wonder.</p><p>“Well, we can’t really outrightly go to them. I’m not allowed to give interviews without Al’s permission,” Laurent added, at Damianos’ confused look. “And I don’t think Al would allow this, even if it was with you, unless it was an announcement about our marriage.”</p><p>“Our marriage?!” Now Damianos looked alarmed.</p><p>“Never mind,” Laurent said.</p><p>There was a brief moment of silence. The shortest moment between them. And then: “We don’t have to give them an interview,” Damianos began slowly. “But we could give them some other kind of confirmation of our, uh, relationship.”</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“A photo is a good place to start.”</p><p>“Oh my god,” Laurent sat up. “A selfie. Where we’re both naked. In bed. It’ll look like we just fucked.”</p><p>“I — no. No. No. No. <em>No. </em>Absolutely — ”</p><p>“Alright, relax.”</p><p>Damianos cleared his throat. “A normal, nice selfie might be nice. We could send it to some reporters or post it on Twitter.”</p><p>“I don’t have Twitter. Or any social media. Al’s banned me.”</p><p>“I don’t either.” Damianos paused. “Does Al — Aleron ban you from everything?”</p><p>“Alright.” Laurent said, ignoring the question. “So. We should take a selfie. And I’ll send it to someone.”</p><p>“Okay. Great.” Damianos agreed.</p><p>Neither of them moved.</p><p>Laurent waited a couple of more moments, in case Damianos did something besides blink at him.</p><p>“Ugh, fine.” Laurent pulled out his phone, and went to the camera app. Then he checked his reflection in the camera, then held his phone up to take the photo. “I don’t look good from this angle. Also why aren’t you smiling?”</p><p>“Sorry,” said Damianos, not sounding sorry.</p><p>Laurent looked at him. “We need it to seem that we — at the very least — like each other. Can you bear to do that, Your Majesty?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Damianos was sitting rigidly, posture too straight.</p><p>“Unbutton a few buttons,” Laurent told him. “And mess up your hair. You need to look a bit more relaxed.”</p><p>Damianos hesitantly ran a hand over his hair, so some of the gelled pieces of his hair fell loose. He unbuttoned only two buttons, but that was probably for the best — Laurent didn’t think he could handle any more of that smooth, hard, tanned chest.</p><p>He handed Damianos his phone. “You take it. I’d look better that way.”</p><p>“What about me?”</p><p>“What about you?”</p><p>“Never mind,” Damianos said.</p><p>He didn’t have to lift his arms as high as Laurent had. But they still looked awkward. There was too much distance between them, and their smiles were frozen, forced.</p><p>Right as Damianos clicked the photo, Laurent acted before he could chicken out and kissed Damianos’ cheek.</p><p>It was really just a peck. Laurent felt the warmth of Damianos’ skin and then he quickly pulled away.</p><p>Damianos turned to him, shocked, but Laurent pretended not to notice as he grabbed his phone and inspected the photo.</p><p>The photo was nice: Damianos had caught it during the split second where he was still smiling as Laurent’s lips had landed on his cheek. They looked like a normal, blissful, happy couple in love.</p><p>“Who should I send it to?” Laurent said as he scrolled through his contacts, aware Damianos was still staring. “I have Chris, Vivienne, Laura, all from <em>Vogue Vere</em>, umm, Jacob, Marcus from <em>Vere Weekly, </em>and the editor from <em>GQ, Men’s Health, Vere Women, Gone Vere, Arles Women’s Weekly </em>—”</p><p>“Just send it to all of them,” Damianos said. “It’s a nice photo.”</p><p>Laurent finally met his eyes, blushing. “I agree.”</p><p>Taking a deep breath, he compiled an email, and set it to all twenty-two journalists on his phone. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Articles.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>King Damianos and Prince Laurent are dating, Royal Palace confirms</strong> </p><p>By: Gabriel Martin</p><p>The Royal Palace of Akielos has officially confirmed that King Damianos and Prince Laurent are dating, after a photo of the two cuddling was released through an unknown source.</p><p>Per the Royal Palace, King Damianos is said to have started seeing the Prince in September of last year. The two were also recently spotted at the deluxe restaurant <em>Bluebird</em> where sources say they were unable to keep their hands off each other.</p><p><em>The Vere Campaign </em>reports that the King was seen shopping for jewellery in Arles’ renowned Diamond District, where the finest wedding rings in the world are produced.</p><p>Prince Laurent, who is the most gorgeous, talented, wonderful, sexy, alluring royal in the world — and who also has the finest ass — is said to be —</p><p>“Uh, what the fuck?”</p><p>“What? Why did you stop reading it? It was finally getting good.”</p><p>Damianos gave him an incredulous look. “Do you know this guy?”</p><p>Laurent peered at the name on Damianos’ screen. “Gabriel Martin… hmmm… oh yeah! He was the reporter who covered Al’s birthday ball last year. We also fucked during said ball. It was… disturbingly fast.”</p><p>“Wow,” said Damianos.</p><p>“It really wasn’t,” Laurent said. “Did you miss the part where I said ‘disturbingly fast’?”</p><p>“No. No. I heard it.” Damianos’ scrolled through the article again. “You left quite an impression on him, though. There’s an entire paragraph about how smooth your skin is — and another about your hair.”</p><p>“Really?” said Laurent, trying to look over Damianos massive, hard, massive (yes, massive needed to be there twice) shoulder. “Forward me the article. I might frame it.”</p><p>Damianos snorted and did just that. Then he started going through the other articles that had been sent to him through his Public Relations office.</p><p>“Huh. Look at this one: ‘Prince Laurent’s lustrous hair and beauty were said to be the key things that stole King Damianos’ heart, which makes sense, since scientifically, the Prince has the world’s most sublime face. I’ve seen it up close and almost passed out.’”</p><p>“Ooohh, send that to me too!”</p><p>“And this one: ‘King Damianos and Prince Laurent might be the most handsome couple in history, although much of that is because of Laurent, whose cheekbones and full, luscious lips makes him one of the most beautiful men in the world.’” Damianos raised an eyebrow. “It’s a bit wordy, actually. And they wrote ‘most’ twice in one sentence.”</p><p>“‘One of’?” said Laurent, nose scrunched. “Ugh. Don’t send me that one.” He paused. “No, actually. Send it. I’ll photoshop those words out.”</p><p>“Oh, here’s a great one,” said Damianos. “‘The political significance of King Damianos’ and Prince Laurent’s relationship.’”</p><p>“What? How is that a great one? It doesn’t mention anything about how attractive I am.”</p><p>Damianos smiled. “I’m sure it must.” He scrolled through the article. “Ah, yes, third line. ‘Prince Laurent, meanwhile, has proved time and time again that he’s more than just a pretty face. His fierce stance on Vere’s budgetary plans in March showed that he cares for the little people as well’”.</p><p>Laurent considered this. “I mean, they definitely could have elaborated more on my body, I guess.”</p><p>But Damianos was staring at him curiously. “This budget plan they’re talking about… is this the one about security in the Palace getting raised pensions and increased benefits?”</p><p>“Yes. You know about that?” Laurent said.</p><p>“Well, yes. It was very impressive. Despite my best intent, we had significant budget cuts, especially with our staff.”</p><p>Laurent nodded. “Yeah. We were heading down there, too. Al’s plans were stupid; he was only focusing on short term goals, but I thought that it was best to keep security happy, since they’re such an integral part of the Palace’s operations. Except, Al didn’t like that,” Laurent cleared his throat uncomfortably at the look Damianos gave him. “So… I went to Councillor Herode and then of course it was approved, because it was coming from him. But he was too much of a sweetheart to take credit for it. So. Anyway.”</p><p>“That’s…” Damianos shook his head. “I’m glad it got approved eventually. Though I don’t understand why <em>your </em>idea needed to come from someone else to be —”</p><p>“Are there any more articles?” Laurent said, taking Damianos’ phone from him. “Oh my god, look, we’re trending on Twitter according to <em>Elle Akielos</em>! How do we check that?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” Damianos shrugged. “Jo says social media is poison.”</p><p>“What a refreshing take,” said Laurent under his breath. “What?” he added, when Damianos frowned. “It’s true! Name one person over the age of fifty who <em>hasn’t </em>uttered those exact words.”</p><p>Damianos thought for a little while. “Yeah, alright. You’re right.”</p><p>“I know. Ground rule from here on out: I am always right about literally everything.”</p><p>Damianos laughed. Laurent liked that he could do that. Most men laughed at his jokes because they knew it would get Laurent on his knees faster, but it was nice to make someone laugh just because they genuinely wanted to.</p><p>“Oh, sorry,” Damianos said when he caught Laurent staring. “Am I being too loud?”</p><p>Laurent shook his head, a little dazed. “I — no. No one can hear you here.”</p><p>They were in the Prince’s Courtyard again. In fact, they’d had breakfast together here, just two hours ago, as they had waited for the articles to break through since Damianos had called up his PR assistant last night about their relationship. They had even had three full minutes of conversation — mostly about the omelettes, but still. Progress was progress.</p><p>Damianos said, “I have to say… I’m surprised everyone seems to be in favour of this. My Kyroi is absolutely going to hate it, there’s no doubt about <em>that </em>— but I didn’t expect the general public to be so welcoming of it.”</p><p>“This?”</p><p>“Us. Our… thing. To be honest, I’ve never had a relationship that has been so well received.”</p><p>“Really?” said Laurent in surprise, then mulled over it. “Actually, I think it’s the same for me.”</p><p>“It just makes me feel a bit sad about Jo,” Damianos said with a forlorn shrug. “I just wish my Kyroi was a bit more tolerant, less backwards. I mean, Jo is great. She’s —”</p><p>“An arsonist?”</p><p>“What?!”</p><p>“She’s definitely committed tax fraud then.”</p><p>“No! Stop guessing why my Kyroi doesn’t approve of her.”</p><p>“I can’t promise anything,” Laurent said. “I have an overactive imagination. I’m just going to keep jumping to conclusions. <em>Unless</em>…” He shuffled forward, resting his fist under his chin and batting his eyelashes. “You tell me why.”</p><p>“Ha ha,” Damianos said flatly. “I’m not going to tell you.”</p><p>“Oh, come on! You having a secret love affair is pretty much the only interesting thing you have going for you. You need to take advantage of it!”</p><p>“The <em>only </em>interesting thing about me?”</p><p>“Well — your height, too. We don’t see giants often in Vere.”</p><p>Damianos frowned, but it was the kind of frown that Auguste gave Laurent when he made a comment that was scandalous yet humorous.</p><p>Damianos’ phone chimed. “Another article,” he said. “‘Beautiful, stunning and amazing Prince Laurent is now dating the King of Akielos’. Huh. They didn’t even mention my name.” He turned to Laurent, his warm eyes wide and piercing. “Should I be offended that nobody has called me beautiful or stunning yet?”</p><p>“Yes,” said Laurent. “I would be suing.”</p><p>Damianos laughed, head thrown back, throat bobbing.</p><p>Laurent stared. He said, “I think you’re crazy hot. I mean,” he added quickly when Damianos turned to him again in shock, “I told you as much when we first met.”</p><p>“You did,” Damianos said with a slow nod. “Then again you said a lot of stuff right before you threw up — including reciting the Veretian national anthem backwards.”</p><p>“I didn’t throw up. That was an optical illusion.”</p><p>“Right.” Damianos gave him a smile, this one more mellow than anything Laurent had seen so far. It was… handsome. Like Damianos. Who was handsome.</p><p>Damianos suddenly peered over his shoulder and waved. “Your father’s here.”</p><p>Laurent almost said <em>Who? </em>He turned back, and sure enough, Al was by the entrance of the Courtyard, watching the two of them with an insanely inappropriate expression.</p><p>“Good god — is he passing gas?”</p><p>“What? No. He’s just smiling.”</p><p>“Oh, yes. He does that sometimes apparently.”</p><p>Damianos gave him another strange look and stood up. He made to turn his palm up for Laurent to take — and then he quickly retracted it.</p><p>Laurent, who had been about to take his hand — without the usual sirens blaring in his head — awkwardly put his own hand down.</p><p>There was an incredibly awkward beat of silence, and then Damianos said, loud enough for his voice to carry, “Let’s get going sweetheart.”</p><p>“Oh,” Laurent said, nodding. “Pet names. That’s… nice. Do you usually call your… friends pet names?”</p><p>“Yes, almost always,” Damianos said, walking over to Al. “Is sweetheart okay? I could try babe, sugar, honey, light of my life — I used to call my boyfriend in college hot rod.”</p><p>“<em>Hot rod</em>? Was it because he had a huge dick?”</p><p>“No. It’s — well, it was an inside joke. You wouldn’t get it. But he <em>did </em>have the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.”</p><p>“<em>Really</em>?” said Laurent, gaze raking over Damianos’ sizeable crotch. If <em>this </em>man was saying his ex-boyfriend’s dick was huge, then… “Do you still have his number?”</p><p>Damianos gave him a downright wolfish grin, the kind that made Laurent trip on the asphalt.</p><p>Once they reached him, Al said, “Good morning, Your Majesty. I thought we could all walk to the meeting together.”</p><p>“That’s a wonderful idea,” Damianos agreed.</p><p>Laurent started shuffling away to the left, where the guard’s sometimes took smoking breaks.</p><p>Al said, “Where are you going? You’re not exempt from this meeting.”</p><p>“Oh,” Laurent stopped. “When you said <em>all, </em>I was a part of that?”</p><p>Al’s lips thinned. Damianos was watching the both of them with curiosity.</p><p>Laurent felt himself flush. He shuffled back over.</p><p>Of course Al had never bothered to tell him he was needed in this meeting. Laurent had not prepared any notes. He didn’t even know what this particular meeting was about.</p><p>They all walked to the Meeting Chamber in silence. Well, Laurent was silent. Al and Damianos were talking about the <em>waste management system </em>in the Palace of all things. Laurent was suddenly sure that Damianos was the kind of person who did sudoku <em>for fun </em>— and not to prove a point to an asshole nobleman from Patras. It had taken Laurent ten days to complete it — mostly because he had been busy following the Milan Fashion Week schedule — but he had still completed it, so fuck you Jeremy.</p><p>As they reached the huge oak doors of the Chamber, Damianos pulled back and stood next to him. In an undertone he said, “The meeting’s about how to fund and support the three major children’s charities across the continent.”</p><p>Laurent stared at him. “I… thank you.”</p><p>Damianos smiled kindly. “No worries.”</p><p>Auguste was heading down the hallway from the north wing, and it was clear he was going to talk to Damianos.</p><p>Laurent, fuelled by his pettiness — once again — gripped Damianos’ elbow, so his back was turned to Auguste.</p><p>“Talk to me and me only for the next three minutes.”</p><p>Damianos’ eyebrows furrowed. “Okay?”</p><p>Laurent laughed loudly as though Damianos had said the most hilarious anecdote.</p><p>It was a great technique for wooing men. Even Damianos looked a little bamboozled. He was staring at Laurent, mouth open slightly.</p><p>Laurent said, “I like your tie.”</p><p>“I’m not wearing a tie.”</p><p>Laurent laughed again.</p><p>Auguste stopped walking towards them. Instead, he stood beside Councillor Antony, watching them with a thoughtful expression.</p><p>Laurent didn’t know what that meant, or what to make of it.</p><p>Damianos said, “Should I compliment an article of clothing you’re not wearing, too?” He peered at Laurent. “I like your… thigh high stockings?”</p><p>Laurent frowned. “I <em>am </em>wearing thigh high stockings. But the compliment is appreciated, regardless.”</p><p>“You…” Damianos eye’s roamed over his legs, looking flustered and mesmerised all at once.</p><p>Herode suddenly appeared over Laurent’s shoulder. “Good morning Your Highness, Your Majesty.”</p><p>“Morning,” said Laurent, instantly in a good mood. Herode really was a ray of old, wrinkly sunshine in the Palace. Laurent meant the wrinkly part with love.</p><p>“I just wanted to relay my congratulations,” Herode said, smiling. “I’m assuming now that your romance is public, it’s safe to do so.”</p><p>“Do you have a present for us?”</p><p>“Er, thank you, Councillor,” Damianos said, cutting off Herode’s response. “That means a lot. We really appreciate it.”</p><p>“Treat him well, Your Majesty. He’s one of our very best.” Herode gave Laurent a warm smile.</p><p>“Yes, he is,” Damianos said.</p><p>Laurent preened. He could get used to this. It was heady receiving compliments.</p><p>“Tell me more great things about me.”</p><p>“Why don’t we just go inside,” Damianos said.</p><p>“Fine. But afterwards, I want more compliments.”</p><p>“…Sure.”</p><p>*</p><p>Laurent woke up the next morning to find a large wicker basket perched on his vanity.</p><p>He immediately brightened. He scrambled over to it. Inside, there was an assortment of cheeses, breads, fruits — gross — and rolled up meats. Laurent even spotted three jars of thick, spicy dip that smelt like heaven.</p><p>“Who’s this from?” he asked Thomas, one of his four assistants.</p><p>“Crown Prince Auguste, Your Highness.”</p><p>So, this was an <em>apology </em>basket of food. Truly, the best kind.</p><p>“Cancel all my plans today. I’m going to do nothing but eat this.”</p><p>“Uh, you don’t have any plans today, Your Highness.”</p><p>“Well, cancel them anyway.”</p><p>“Okay. Uh, done.”</p><p>“Great. Dismissed.”</p><p>It was close to noon by the time Laurent finished off the basket. It really had been excellent; Auguste had outdone himself with this apology. Most of their apologies weren’t done with useless, meaningless words, but like this: with scrumptious, filling food.</p><p>At one minute past noon, Susie, his second assistant, stepped inside. “Prince Auguste would like you to meet him by the lake.”</p><p>It took Laurent almost an hour to get ready, and then some, because he couldn’t find his Prada boots, the one with the red velvet shoelaces which went perfectly with his red velvet blazer.</p><p>“Just change your blazer,” Lazar said.</p><p>“<em>Excuse me</em>?”</p><p>“Never mind.”</p><p>Laurent made it down to the lake only half an hour later. He was wearing his normal, boring black Prada boots and it was throwing his whole outfit off, but it was fine. Laurent wasn’t going to dwell on it.</p><p>Auguste pushed himself off the tree he was leaning against. He was also carrying a large wicker basket. “<em>Finally</em>. I left fifty minutes after I issued that invite, and you’re <em>still </em>late. This was tardy, even for you.”</p><p>“I was dealing with an emergency.”</p><p>“God, what happened?”</p><p>“Uhh…” Laurent knew he couldn’t bring up the boots, so he said, “Jord broke his… ferbodical misuki muscle bone thing. There was <em>so</em> much blood. Just buckets of it.”</p><p>“Oh my god, are you okay?” Auguste said, looking concerned.</p><p>Jord threw a wide eyed glance at Laurent, then Auguste. “Er, yes. I’m fine, Your Highness. Thank you.”</p><p>“What’s in the basket?” Laurent said, pointing to it.</p><p>“Chocolates, pastries, cream puffs, croissants… Where’s your basket? I told you to bring it. It had all the savoury stuff.”</p><p>Laurent’s eyes widened. “Um.”</p><p>Auguste closed his own eyes. “Laurent, I put a note in it to save the food for this specific reason.”</p><p>“Auguste, you left me a basket full of food. I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”</p><p>Auguste sighed. “Jord, please go tell the kitchen to prepare another basket. Unless — you’re too sick to go?”</p><p>“I — no. I’m fine, Your Highness,” Jord said, quickly retreating.</p><p>In the meantime, Auguste and Laurent walked to the lake together, where a striped, wool blanket had been laid out on the grass.</p><p>“We’re going to be sitting on the <em>ground</em>?”</p><p>“I know you’ve gone on picnics before so shut up.”</p><p>Laurent had never been on <em>this </em>kind of picnic before. Aimeric had invited him to one, sometime last year, except nobody sat on the ground — they had been seated on large, comfy beanbags and had gotten high.</p><p>As they laid out the food, Auguste said, “You must be pleased, hmm? Your relationship is getting a lot of buzz.”</p><p>“That’s going to make Jo happy,” Laurent said, biting into a strawberry napoleon.</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“Never mind. I barely remember who she is half the time, too.”</p><p>“… Right. Anyway.” Auguste pulled out a <em>donut </em>of all things — truly, his father and brother had such… interesting ideas about food — and said, “Well. The King is certainly making you seem good.”</p><p>Nobody had ever called Laurent <em>good </em>outside of bed. He immediately became suspicious. “How do you mean?”</p><p>“You haven’t been keeping up with the news? Or the public polls? You’ve skyrocketed in popularity. Everyone’s suspecting you being with Damianos must mean you’re finally taking your duties seriously.”</p><p>“I’ve <em>always </em>taken my duties seriously,” Laurent snapped. “<em>Al </em>is the one who never lets me —”</p><p>“Anyway,” Auguste said, “Congratulations. I’m glad this this going well for you You seemed happy the other day, talking to him. I’m… happy you’re happy.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Laurent said, miffed. He bit into his pastry with more aggressiveness than needed.</p><p>It was insulting to think that Damianos was boosting his image while Laurent was doing the exact opposite for him.</p><p>What was so terrible about Laurent anyway? He took after Hennike, who had been the most beautiful woman in the world, and he hadn’t like… killed any dogs or children. So. He was better than most of the male population already.</p><p>“Alright?” Auguste said.</p><p>Laurent could see two staff members from the kitchen coming towards them, struggling to carry the wicker basket between them.</p><p>It lifted his mood, but only by a little bit.</p><p>Maybe he would get more food after this. That should cheer him up.</p><p>He hoped so at least.</p><p>*</p><p>On Saturday, there was another banquet dinner with the foreign delegates. Laurent was especially excited about this one, because the desserts were being catered by one of the most renowned bakeries in Vere — a small, luxurious trendsetting store called <em>Laurent’s Sweets. </em>It had actually been named after Laurent’s birth had been announced. It was Laurent’s favourite bakery. Laurent had considered murdering Auguste when he had said their chocolate eclairs were just <em>okay. </em></p><p>The banquet was in the Audience Chamber, the third fanciest Chamber in the Palace. It was the kind of room that was overpowered by all the fancy, gold furniture in it. It was the wrong room to hold a banquet for Akielons, who liked rooms with plain, white walls, and those weird low dining tables where you had to sit down on the floor to eat. But Laurent hadn’t had a chance to bring that up in the meeting; Al had ended it as soon as he saw Laurent’s mouth open.</p><p>Now, as Al recounted the Chamber’s history — the first time commoners had been invited to the Palace to watch a coronation had been in here, apparently. In other words: <em>ew </em>and <em>who cares</em> — the Akielons were looking overwhelmed. Laurent thought the fact that all the portrait frames were lined with Swarovski crystals was not helping.</p><p>Damianos came over to his side as soon as the boring history lesson was over. “This is a nice portrait of you.”</p><p>He was pointing to the one that had been painted months after Laurent’s fifteenth birthday, when he had officially been sworn in as a plausible heir for the throne. It had been a ceremony done for formality’s sake, but honestly, up until that point, Laurent had thought Al would have listed fifty other people as heirs after Auguste — including the decrepit gardener who yelled unintelligible slurs at pigeons.</p><p>“It’s alright. The painter was really weird. I mean, he wore this hideous brown jacket with wings.”</p><p>“You mean fringe?”</p><p>“The fact that you know that worries me.”</p><p>Damianos smiled. “It’s actually a pretty big thing in Akielos right now.”</p><p>“What?!” Laurent’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my god. I feel faint. I think I need to sit down. I can’t believe I have to avoid all the men in Akielos now too.”</p><p>Damianos’ smile grew.</p><p>“Oh.” Laurent said. “Is that — you’re joking?”</p><p>“Yeah. I do that every now and then. Sometimes several times in a day.”</p><p>Laurent frowned at him. “Are you making fun of me?”</p><p>Damianos shrugged. “Only a little bit.”</p><p>“Well. It’s unappreciated. I prefer it when you say nice things about me.”</p><p>“Got it. From now on, for every joke I make about you, I’ll balance it out with a compliment.”</p><p>Laurent thought about it. “Okay. Deal. But I feel like the fact that you just said that was a joke. So you should compliment me now.”</p><p>Damianos laughed. “God, you’re fun to talk to.”</p><p>Laurent’s stomach flipped. “I am?”</p><p>“Yeah, you are. My Kyroi have been giving me grief all day. You’re the only person I feel like talking to right now.”</p><p>“… Oh. That’s. The. We. I’m.”</p><p>“Hello, Your Majesty. Laurent.”</p><p>Laurent jumped. Al was hovering over his shoulder like… like some sort of insect.</p><p>“How are you finding the Chamber, Your Majesty?” Al said, gesturing around them as though Damianos had somehow gotten amnesia in the last forty seconds and couldn’t remember where he was. “Have you seen the tabletops? You’ll notice they’re etched with fine layer of pearl.”</p><p>And a crudely drawn penis in one noticeable corner that had taken months to hide — courtesy of the demon child — but of course Laurent had been blamed for it.</p><p>“Yes. It’s lovely. I like the wallpaper as well.”</p><p>“Ah, yes. Imported straight from Kempt. Have you been?”</p><p>That was when Laurent spotted the worst thing in the world. It was, perhaps, the most gruesome thing he’d seen — and Laurent had had the misfortune of being in the room when Ambassador Lou’s pants had ripped. Laurent wanted it noted that Ambassador Lou was seventy and alarmingly pale, even for a Veretian.</p><p>The kitchen staff were wheeling in a moderately sized cake — about three feet, so actually maybe a few centimetres smaller than the usual cakes they consumed — but that wasn’t the terrible part. The terrible part was the fact that Laurent could see the logo on the box it was currently in. It said — he could barely look, oh god it was truly awful — <em>Dominique’s Stop. </em>As in, <em>not Laurent’s Sweets, </em>and therefore, <em>not </em>the best bakery in the world. The name wasn’t even good! What did it even mean? It sounded like a gas station where seedy men did heinous things in the bathroom.</p><p>He whirled on Al. “You didn’t get <em>Laurent’s Sweets </em>to cater this? Why?”</p><p>Al glared at him, annoyed at being interrupted. “Laurent. That little shop charges far too much and for an event like this —”</p><p>“Are you seriously worried about <em>money</em>? Everything in this room is gold! Also, it isn’t a <em>little shop, </em>it’s an <em>institution.</em>”</p><p>“Perhaps if you spent less time thinking about what goes inside your mouth, you’d be more productive. And grow up — you sound like a three year old crying about sweets.”</p><p>“I’m a twenty year old crying about sweets, actually. So.”</p><p>Al turned red.</p><p>Damn it, that sentence had sounded cooler in his head. He did the next best thing: he stomped off, away from the King. The Kings. Oh god, Damianos had been there, listening to that exchange, hadn’t he?</p><p>Laurent stood near the portrait of whorish Queen Raimunde and wished to disappear.</p><p>Ten minutes later, Damianos approached him again. “Alright?”</p><p>“No,” Laurent said. “All my dreams are crushed. No. Worse than crushed. Dead. This was the only thing I had been looking forward to this entire visit. Er. No offence.”</p><p>“None taken.” Damianos gave him a quizzical expression. “Is the sweets place really that good?”</p><p>“It’s called <em>Laurent’s Sweets</em>, named after yours truly. So there’s your first clue.”</p><p>Damianos nodded. And then: “Let’s go then.”</p><p>“Ah.” Laurent nodded, then stopped. “Wait. I don’t get this joke.”</p><p>“That’s because it wasn’t a joke,” Damianos said. “I’m being serious.”</p><p>Laurent stared at him. “I… Now?”</p><p>“Why not? This isn’t one of the most important events.”</p><p>That was true, Laurent thought. This <em>was </em>only the third fanciest Chamber.</p><p>“Won’t you get in trouble?”</p><p>Leaving these kind of events was one of Laurent’s specialties, but for Damianos, who looked like the kind of guy who ironed his underwear, this was probably very out of character.</p><p>“Getting in trouble is kind of the point, right?” Damianos said, smiling.</p><p>“Oh.” Laurent said. Right. He had forgotten that he was the worst human being on the planet and so on and so forth.</p><p>“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Damianos said.</p><p>“What — no. Of course we’re going to go.” Laurent peered up at him. “But I have permission to shoot you in the foot if you don’t like anything.”</p><p>“I —” Damianos stopped. “Um. Maybe you could just punch me instead?”</p><p>Laurent’s eyes involuntarily roamed over Damianos’ body and all his muscles and the muscles his muscles had.</p><p>“I —” This time Laurent stopped. “No. I’m. My hand would break. I either get to shoot you or we stay here.”</p><p>Damianos laughed. “Yeah, alright. You have permission.” He gestured to the door, bowing slightly. “Shall we?”</p><p>Laurent smiled. He felt like he was floating. It was an addicting feeling — and was definitely caused by the thought of consuming twenty kilograms of sugar and not because of Damianos who had said: <em>You’re fun to talk to.</em></p><p>God.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ive been rewatching parks and rec and have come to the important realisation that tom haverford is laurent. laurent is tom haverford. dont hate me for saying the truth. i almost burst a blood vessel from laughing too hard thinking about it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Birthday Cake.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry this is late. i had to spend halloween doing some truly terrifying stuff: meeting new people and making small talk. </p><p>WARNING: this chapter includes discussion of a difficult pregnancy and death via childbirth complications.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Holy fuck,” Damianos said, eyes wide. There was chocolate on the corner of his mouth, which he eagerly chased with his tongue.</p><p>“Right?” Laurent said, laughing. He ran the tip of his finger through the caramel on his plate and then licked it off.</p><p>Damianos bit into the chocolate éclair next, the same one that Auguste had proclaimed as just <em>okay. </em>Laurent watched with bated breath.</p><p>“Holy fuck,” Damianos said again. “<em>Holy fuck</em>.”</p><p>Laurent laughed.</p><p>Damianos took another large bite. “My god.” He turned to Odette, the elderly, sweet lady who ran <em>Laurent’s Sweets </em>and said, “Hello. I am a little bit in love with you right now.”</p><p>Odette flushed, looking charmed. Laurent laughed again. He was a little — maybe a lot — charmed right now too.</p><p>Damianos turned his wonderful warm eyes on him. “Can you ask her if she’s willing to move to Ios?”</p><p>Laurent gasped, hands pressed to his chest. “How dare you good sir! If Odette leaves, my dessert intake will drop to like… three days a week, instead of seven.”</p><p>“You have dessert seven times a week?” Damianos’ eyes tracked over Laurent’s body. “I find that hard to believe.”</p><p>Laurent beamed. Then he gestured to the glittering cases of desserts around them. “Can you blame me?”</p><p>“Fuck no,” Damianos said, finishing off his éclair. He stared mournfully at his empty plate.</p><p>Odette rushed forward with a tray full of strawberry tarts.</p><p>“Oh no, I shouldn’t,” Damianos said, waving her off. Odette turned to leave, and Damianos shouted out a panicked, “Wait, no! Can I please have two?”</p><p>Laurent laughed again, thanking Odette when she placed lemon cheesecake on his plate as well.</p><p>“This is amazing,” Damianos said. “Seriously. Why didn’t the King want this at the dinner tonight?”</p><p>“Because I requested it <em>obviously</em>,” Laurent muttered. “I mean —” he started when Damianos threw him a shrewd look. “You heard Al. It was too expensive. And um. Dominique’s weird gas station desserts are clearly better.”</p><p>“Are they,” said Damianos, but he phrased it in a way that made it seem like it wasn’t a question.</p><p>“Hmm,” said Laurent, trying to look innocent.</p><p>“Hmm,” said Damianos, eyebrows furrowed.</p><p>He was still looking at Laurent with a strange expression, so Laurent said, “Here, try this,” and slid a silver tray of truffles towards him.</p><p>Damianos peered at them with excitement, successfully distracted. “Is there edible gold in this?”</p><p>“Twenty four karats of it.”</p><p>Damianos grinned at him across the table.</p><p>Laurent smiled back, and Damianos’ smile grew softer, as though it had been dulled around the edges. It made his eyes crinkle up.</p><p>For a moment, Laurent felt a little sick: his heart was beating too fast and his stomach was lurching. Sometimes he felt like this right before a panic, but Laurent was actually mostly happy now.</p><p>It might have been the four trays of pastries he had just consum — Laurent couldn’t even finish that thought without snorting. It was ridiculous. It was clearly the air in <em>Laurent’s Sweets</em>. Maybe Odette was spraying something into the air conditioner. Laurent had read that in the book. Except it had been about a woman who had been trying to seduce her brother in law by spraying her perfume in the room whenever he was around so he’d always be thinking of her scent.</p><p>Laurent had tried that once with one of his professors, but it had failed spectacularly, and the classroom had eventually been evacuated.</p><p>(He had still managed to hook up with Professor Bernard when the semester had ended. Laurent had liked him actually — even outside of bed. It had been the closest Laurent had ever felt to liking someone… <em>really </em>liking them. But then Al had seen them photographed in a tabloid and he’d been pulled out of university forever. Al hadn’t even let him attend university in a different country. Laurent officially became the first royal in Vere without a degree and it was still something he was completely bitter about to this day).</p><p>Damianos said, “Wait, is there <em>hazelnut </em>in this?”</p><p>Laurent smiled. It was extremely easy to do around Damianos. “Yes. There’s also <em>just </em>a hint of espresso.”</p><p>“Oh my god.” Damianos said, biting into his truffle. He cast another forlorn look at Odette, who was preparing even more trays for them. “I really do think I’m in love with her.”</p><p>Laurent bit his lip down on his smile. “She’s been very much in love with her wife for the last thirty years — so there’s nothing but heartbreak for you down that road, my friend.”</p><p>Damianos shook his head in a slow, dramatic movement, completely forlorn. “It’s always the absolute best ones who are already committed to someone else.”</p><p>“Yes,” said Laurent, his stomach doing that weird lurching thing again.</p><p>Maybe he should call a health inspector up in here. But what if they also started experiencing stomach rolling and sweaty palms? <em>Laurent’s Sweets </em>would be closed. Or worse — Al would use their terrible air as an excuse to tell everyone Laurent had been wrong about how amazing their desserts were.</p><p>There was nothing to do but suck it up, even though his heart had climbed to his throat, hammering madly, as Damianos gave him another smile.</p><p>Laurent turned back to his plate. All of a sudden, he wasn’t hungry.</p><p>Damianos was finishing off his seventh — tenth? twentieth? No, that was a crazy number. It would probably be his fifteenth or higher — éclair and didn’t seem to have any intention of stopping.</p><p>Laurent was… glad that Damianos had liked everything in <em>Laurent’s Sweets </em>so far. The only other person he had brought here was Auguste, and after the whole éclair debacle, Laurent was never going to bring him again.</p><p>In fact… Laurent had considered never bringing anyone over to his favourite bakery. But he didn’t mind Damianos’ presence here.</p><p>Oh no. His stomach was revolting again. He just hoped he was not going to throw up any time soon. Once in front of Damianos was more than enough.  </p><p>Odette came over from the kitchen with a tray, balancing a large croquembouche.</p><p>Laurent perked up. His hunger was back. The air must have already started clearing up — truly, a miracle.</p><p>*</p><p>The next morning, breakfast was held in the Formal Dining Room. That was a very, <em>very </em>bad sign. Laurent’s heart lurched as the servants led him down the Portrait Gallery. Even passing the portrait of Hennike on her coronation day — where she was wearing a custom Alexander McQueen gown made out of sixty thousand crystals. (She really had been the only person fit enough to rule this country). — didn’t make him feel better.  </p><p>Laurent’s stomach dropped. Al had ordered plain toast and lumpy oatmeal for Laurent’s breakfast — a <em>terrible </em>sign.</p><p>Laurent stared at his meal with trepidation. Auguste, seated to his left, was eating scrambled eggs and freshly baked croissants. Al, who was at the head of the table as usual, about ten metres away, was eating crispy bacon and <em>waffles. </em>Laurent loved waffles. It was in his top five favourite food list as mentioned in <em>Favourite breakfast foods of Royals from around the world, </em>an extensive, in-depth article <em>Marie Claire Vere </em>had covered before Al had banned him from interviews.</p><p>Laurent had managed six spoonful’s of torture before Al said, “And where exactly did you go last night?”</p><p>Laurent swallowed, mind racing. This was one of those situations where telling the truth might get him into <em>more </em>trouble — like the time Beowulf, Lord Nicholas’ golden retriever, had torn apart King Valentin’s coronation cloak in the royal archives. Al had still gotten mad at Laurent, because he had been the one to let Beowulf off his leash. But Laurent had only done <em>that </em>because Lord Nicholas was a monster who had kept his dog on too short of a leash, and poor Beowulf had looked miserable.</p><p>If Laurent mentioned <em>Laurent’s Sweets, </em>especially after Al had cancelled their catering, he would be doomed. And if he mentioned Damianos accompanying him, he would be doomder — <em>yes, </em>that was a word thank you very much — than doomed. Al would see it as a great insult if the King of Akielos had left his banquet dinner to eat somewhere that was not approved by him.</p><p>So Laurent said, “I was with Damianos.”</p><p>Al’s nostrils flared. Still a bad sign. “Have your ears somehow stopped functioning overnight?” Al said, so severely that even Auguste winced. “I asked <em>where </em>you went last night, not <em>who </em>you were with.”</p><p>Laurent swallowed again. “I — we were in my bedroom.” When Al frowned, Laurent quickly continued, “Having sex. Lots of it. Just — so much. Which is why we lost track of time. You know what they say about Akielon virility: it’s unbe —”</p><p>“That’s enough, Laurent.”</p><p>Laurent bit his lip and turned back to his greying oatmeal.</p><p>“Well,” said Al, finally, “since you’ve decided you can come and go whenever you please, you’ll be happy to know you’re banned from tonight’s meeting <em>and </em>dinner.”</p><p>“But —” Laurent started. “I actually wanted to attend the meeting. I’ve already prepared notes about the border tensions between Marches and —”</p><p>“Then I’ve saved you from completely embarrassing yourself in front of the foreign delegates,” Al said coldly. “We don’t want a repeat of that disastrous national park maintenance discussion.”</p><p>“That was my first meeting ever and I was <em>fifteen</em>!”</p><p>Al muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Excuses.”</p><p>Laurent deflated in his seat. Morosely, he bit into his plain, cold, hard toast.</p><p>After a moment, when the meal dragged on and on, Auguste said, “Perhaps Laurent could at least attend the dinner, Father? The King might miss him.”</p><p>Laurent looked up and threw Auguste a grateful look. They both waited for Al’s response.</p><p>Al said, “Thank you for your unnecessary input, Auguste, but my decision remains firm.”</p><p>Auguste flushed a deep, splotchy red. He looked like a little child who had just been told off in front of all his friends.</p><p>Laurent almost felt a little sorry for him. But he also didn’t feel so bad; Auguste was probably now not going to defend Laurent for a long, long time.</p><p>Al had almost finished his breakfast. Laurent swallowed another mouthful of awfulness and said, “Um. Actually. I have a question.”</p><p>Al seemed bored. “And who exactly are you speaking to? For all we know, you could be addressing the wallpaper.”</p><p>Laurent dutifully tried again. “Your Majesty, I have a question to ask you.”</p><p>Auguste looked at him in surprise. Even Al seemed shocked. It was probably because Laurent hadn’t called him <em>Al. </em></p><p>Al <em>hmmed. </em>He gave Laurent a hard look. “What is it?”</p><p>“Um. Well,” Laurent cleared his throat. “Today is the sixteenth and we all know that means…”</p><p>He waited for either Al or Auguste to finish the sentence for him, but they only kept staring at him blankly.</p><p>Laurent nodded. “Okay. Right. Well. Today is Councillor Herode’s birthday — and it’s a big one. So I was thinking we could hold a surprise birthday party for him after all the engagements were finished tonight. Maybe around nine? We could set everything up in the Portrait Chamber and get those —”</p><p>“I’m going to stop you right there, Laurent,” Al said, palm up. “We simply do not have the time to hold an inane <em>birthday party </em>for our Councillors, no matter how esteemed they are.”</p><p>“But. Councillor Herode has been a part of the Council since <em>your </em>father’s time, and I know it’d make him, like, <em>super </em>happy —”</p><p>“Laurent, Councillor Herode isn’t a child who needs a gaudy party to celebrate his age. It’s a complete waste of time.”</p><p>“You’re kidding right?” Laurent said, completely incredulous. “There’s a national public holiday to commemorate <em>yours </em>and the both of you hold huge balls and invite all these celebrities every single year to celebrate your birthdays.” He turned to Auguste. “Adele performed at yours last year!”</p><p>Al put down his fork. “Why is it that every time I tell you <em>no </em>you have a million roundabout excuses up your sleeve? Whenever my father said <em>no </em>you know what I did? I shut the hell up and <em>listened. </em>And look where it got me.”</p><p>Laurent frowned. “Grey hairs at twenty five?”</p><p>Al’s lips pressed together. Through clenched teeth he said, “I became <em>King</em>.”</p><p>Laurent frowned again, confused. “But how does that help me? Even if I — shut the hell up and listened, was it? — I still wouldn’t be a King. Unless —” He turned to Auguste who shook his head slightly. “I kill Auguste? Is that your point?”</p><p>“<em>Enough</em> Laurent!” Al snapped, going red. “Jesus fucking —” Oh no. <em>Oh no. </em>An incredibly terrible sign. Al never swore unless he was <em>angry </em>angry. “You know what? You’re banned from all of tomorrow’s events as well. If I see your face outside your room at <em>any </em>point, I’ll make sure you stay there for the rest of your life.”</p><p>There was a horrible silence. Auguste averted his eyes, pretending to flick off lint off his chair.</p><p>Laurent’s eyes burned with unshed tears. It had been years — not since Luca, at least — since Al’s words had <em>hurt </em>like this. He felt…</p><p>Nothing, actually. Which was a bad sign — for him. Laurent only went completely numb when he was too overwhelmed with rage, sadness, sometimes both.</p><p>The last time it had happened, he hadn’t left his bed for a whole week.</p><p>Al stood up, leaving his breakfast half done. He didn’t say anything else.</p><p>There was another silence. Then, hesitantly, Auguste said, “Laurent —”</p><p>“I know,” Laurent said, miserably. “I just wanted to do something nice for Herode.”</p><p>“Maybe we can —”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it. Al’s right. It was a stupid idea.”</p><p>“Well —”</p><p>“It’s fine, Auguste.”</p><p>Auguste stood up a little later when his food had all been eaten. “Do you want to go riding? We can go up to Belloy.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Auguste hovered, then gave Laurent an awkward nod. “Okay. I’ll see you later, then.”</p><p>“When? I’m not invited to anything until Tuesday. And even then — who knows.”</p><p>Auguste winced. He looked like he was going to say something else, and then his phone rung. Laurent tried not to feel offended at how relieved Auguste looked as he answered it.</p><p>After breakfast, Laurent went out into the Prince’s Courtyard. The bench was cold under his trousers, and the view of the Forrest was marred by the light fog that had settled onto the border. Or maybe it was blurry because of the tears in Laurent’s eyes.</p><p>He didn’t know how long he sat there, gazing out at the tall, dark trees, unseeing, but suddenly, there were heavy, booted footsteps climbing up the stairs, onto the Courtyard.</p><p>Damianos came into view: large, handsome, and smiling. Laurent pressed his palms to his knees, sweating.</p><p>“Hey,” Damianos said, smiling wide, his teeth practically flashing like cartoon characters did in poorly draw children’s shows. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”</p><p>“Have you,” said Laurent, but he didn’t really want to know.</p><p>“Yeah,” said Damianos, coming over to sit next to him. “How are you?”</p><p>Laurent kept his gaze ahead. “I’m fine, Your Majesty. And yourself?”</p><p>Damianos frowned. “I’m… good.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>Damianos peered at him. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yes, I’m okay. Thank you for asking. Are you okay, Your Majesty?”</p><p>“I’m…” Damianos stopped. “Hey.” It looked as though he was going to touch Laurent and Laurent braced himself, but then Damianos shifted, until he was crouching in front of Laurent, at eye level. “Hey. Laurent. What’s wrong?”</p><p>Laurent stared at him blankly. “Nothing. But thank you for asking, Your Majesty.”</p><p>Damianos frowned. “Did your…” He stopped himself. “Did someone say something to you?”</p><p>“Plenty of people say things to me,” Laurent said. He shifted his eyes back to the landscape.</p><p>“Ah. Okay.” Damianos was still staring at him. It went on for some time. Then he gave Laurent a small, slow smile. “Hey. Do you want to hear what Nikandros said to me this morning because we disappeared last night? He referenced <em>The Sound of Music </em>a lot during his speech for some reason. It was… truly something else.”</p><p>Laurent had a feeling he knew exactly what Nikandros had said about last night. More specifically, he knew what had been said about <em>him. </em></p><p>Stiffly, he said, “I don’t want to hear about it.”</p><p>He expected Damianos to be offended. Instead, he said a simple: “Okay.” and sat down next to him again.</p><p>They sat quietly for some time, until the fog in Laurent’s eyes lifted.</p><p>Laurent wasn’t sure why he said it, but he did. “I wanted to throw Herode a birthday party tonight, but Al said no.”</p><p>Damianos hummed in understanding. “Is Herode the lovely, tall gentlemen who always wears those sparkly ties?”</p><p>“Don’t hold his fashion choices against him,” Laurent sniffed. “He’s one of our most renowned Councillors.”</p><p>“He is. I really liked his policy on education reform. And I like his ties as well.”</p><p>“Nobody likes his ties,” Laurent said. Then he turned to Damianos, who was watching him with kind eyes. “He’s sixty today. I mean, that’s a big deal, right? The only other age worth celebrating is sixty-nine — but I don’t know if he’ll make it until then. I might not make it either.”</p><p>Damianos nodded. “That’s true. No time like the present and all that.”</p><p>“Yes, exactly,” Laurent said. “But Al — the King, I mean — doesn’t think it’s appropriate. So. There’s nothing I can do.”</p><p>Damianos gave him a small frown. He looked like he wanted to say something, then visibly paused.</p><p>Then Damianos said, “Why don’t we just throw a party anyway?”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Well… We could just have the party without the King’s permission,” Damianos smiled, looking excited. “And it also could work in our favour, right? I mean, it would make you look — um… and also my Kyroi would —”</p><p>Laurent cut him off coldly, “Despite what you and my father and the entire country of Vere may think, I don’t exist solely to piss everyone off. Do you understand?”</p><p>“Oh,” Damianos said, wide eyed. “No. Of course not. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to —”</p><p>Laurent stood up. “The King has denied it, so I’m not going to throw the stupid party. Good day, Your Majesty.”</p><p>Damianos nodded, frowning.</p><p>Laurent marched off.</p><p>*</p><p>Laurent had been in his room for almost two hours, watching <em>Sex and the City </em>for the seventeenth time when Jacob, his fourth assistant, knocked on his door.</p><p>“Your Highness,” he said. “I have an invite here for you.”</p><p>“An invite?” Laurent frowned. “Take it back. I’m not allowed to attend runway events anymore.”</p><p>“No, Your Highness. This is from the King.”</p><p>“Al?”</p><p>“No. The King of Akielos.”</p><p>Laurent closed his eyes in frustration. “Next time, speak in full sentences. It’s not that difficult to say: ‘Your Highness, there is an invite for your from the King of Akielos’. That way, there’s not so much unnecessary conversation.”</p><p>Jacob flushed. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness.”</p><p>Laurent sighed. “It’s fine.” Jacob was very lucky he had a nice cock. “Pass me the invite.”</p><p>Jacob did so, contrite, and then left.</p><p>Laurent peered down at the white envelope and opened it in a rush. An expensive, luxury cream coloured card fell out, threaded with gold lettering.</p><p>
  <em>King Damianos invites you to a SURPRISE birthday party for Councillor Herode tonight at the Portrait Chamber. Be there by 9 pm. Dress appropriately. Costumes don’t count as appropriate. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Note: King Damianos came up with this idea. This event has been SOLELY organised by King Damianos. King Damianos is taking ALL credit for this party. No one else was involved in the brainstorming, planning, or preparing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Once again, let it be noted that KING DAMIANOS organised this. Literally NOBODY helped. King Damianos thinks Councillor Herode has a cool tie collection, hence the reason why KING DAMIANOS AND KING DAMIANOS ONLY wanted to throw him a birthday party. If anybody else takes credit for this, THEY WILL BE PROSECUTED by King Damianos who was the ONLY person to organise this event. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Signed, KING DAMIANOS, the ONE AND ONLY person involved in this.</em>
</p><p>By the end of it, Laurent was in tears from laughing so hard.</p><p>He didn’t remember ever laughing so much in his life. The more times he read the card, the more he laughed, until he was making small, hitching noises that weren’t attractive in any way. But he didn’t even care. His stomach <em>hurt</em>, but it was such a good feeling he couldn’t even be mad about it.</p><p>He had to find Damianos, even if it meant leaving his room. Right now, Laurent didn’t care if Al saw him.</p><p>It didn’t take long. Damianos was in the Prince’s Courtyard, looking over at the Forrest. He turned around as soon as heard Laurent.</p><p>He smiled, and it took over his entire face.</p><p>Laurent retuned it, overwhelmed. The urge to hug Damianos was sudden and invasive, but Laurent really wanted to do it. Damianos could probably pick him up. Laurent wouldn’t mind if he did.</p><p>Damianos said, “Did you get my invite?” and the moment was gone.</p><p>Laurent blinked, then laughed: a short, disbelieving sound. “Yes. I did.” He smiled. “But I think it was a little unclear who was organising it.”</p><p>Damianos smiled. “Ah, shit, I knew it.” He pointed to himself. “It’s me. <em>Only</em> me. Please don’t try to help me at all or otherwise I’ll have no choice but to throw you in jail.”</p><p>Laurent laughed, delighted.</p><p>He realised, quite suddenly, that he was happy.</p><p>He didn’t remember the last time he had felt like this, like he was running on air, weightless. Well, that was a lie. He did remember; it had been when Gucci had released their limited edition cologne inspired by Laurent. Fittingly, it had been called <em>Royalty.</em></p><p>When Al had seen the advertisement for it though — a male model with an eight pack, completely naked because the slogan for the cologne had been <em>You won’t need to wear anything else</em> — he had told Laurent he was not allowed to use it.</p><p>Laurent had snuck it into the Palace anyway, and subsequently, had been banned from all formal engagements for a whole month.</p><p>Fortunately — or unfortunately, he supposed — Damianos was not a naked model with an eight pack, so there was no issue with being happy around him.</p><p>Laurent said quietly, “I don’t know what to say. Thank you. For doing this.”</p><p>Damianos’ smile softened. “I don’t know what you’re thanking me for, Your Highness. It’s not <em>your </em>birthday party.”</p><p>Laurent bit his lip, shaking his head. “Al’s going to freak out.”</p><p>Damianos shrugged, unbothered. “If he has an issue with it, he can take it up with me,” he said fiercely, “I literally have written proof this is my idea.”</p><p>Laurent shook his head, truly at a loss for words.</p><p>Damianos cleared his throat. “I’m temporarily lifting the prosecution ban so you can help me — just a little bit, because I <em>am </em>the sole contributor — plan this thing.”</p><p>“You’re a very fair ruler.” said Laurent, stomach rolling when Damianos tipped his head back and laughed. He cleared his throat. “I was thinking of like, setting up a movie marathon. Herode likes really old scary movies — the kind where you can tell the monster is just three sock puppets stacked on top of each other.”</p><p>“That’s a great idea,” Damianos said. “We’ll need to set up chairs in the Chamber.”</p><p>“And food, balloons, decorations —”</p><p>“Cake! Definitely cake. Sorry,” Damianos flushed when he caught sight of Laurent’s expression. “I just really like birthday cake.”</p><p>“Is it different than usual cake?”</p><p>“What? Obviously. Birthday cake is only for birthdays.”</p><p>Laurent considered this. “Can’t argue with that logic, I guess.”</p><p>“What kind of cake should we get?”</p><p>“Hmmm,” Laurent thought about it. “Well, there’s this cake at <em>Laurent’s Sweets</em> that’s dark chocolate but the inside is —”</p><p>“Perfect! Sorry,” Damianos flushed again. “As soon as you said <em>Laurent’s Sweets</em> I kind of just had the most amazing flashback. I think my body transcended, honestly.”</p><p>Laurent laughed. “Alright. I’ll make sure to order it then.”</p><p>There was another set of footsteps suddenly running up the stairs.</p><p>David, one of his assistants, came up into view. “Your Highness, I managed to get those health reports from Paschal even though he yelled at me about patient confidentiality for an hour.”</p><p>“What?” said Damianos.</p><p>“Well?” said Laurent.</p><p>David peered down at the thick file he was carrying. “Councillor Herode is perfectly healthy and has no issues with his heart, so holding a surprise party for him shouldn’t suddenly startle a heart attack.”</p><p>“Thank you, David,” Laurent said.</p><p>David nodded, bowed, and then quickly left.</p><p>“What?” Laurent said, when he saw that Damianos was staring at him, perplexed. “I had to make sure we didn’t accidentally kill Herode.”</p><p>Damianos paused. Then he shrugged. “Yeah, that’s smart, actually. Let’s get started.”</p><p>“Let’s.”</p><p>*</p><p>“Oh my goodness!” Herode said, eyes alight, when everyone gathered in the Portrait Chamber — most of the Council members and Akielon delegates — yelled out: “Surprise!”</p><p>His eyes were roaming all over the decorations — which were very classy: gold, silver and black — and he looked a little overwhelmed, but mostly grateful.  </p><p>“Prince Laurent,” Herode said, rushing forward. “I don’t know what to say.”</p><p>Laurent grinned. “I didn’t do any of this, Herode.”</p><p>“You didn’t?”</p><p>“I did,” said Damianos, stepping forward to shake Herode’s hands.</p><p>“<em>Really</em>?” Herode said, eyes wide and blushing. “Your Majesty, you didn’t have to —”</p><p>“Of course we — <em>I </em>— did. You’re a good man, Herode.”</p><p>Laurent smiled as he watched Herode splutter. He really was the sweetest person to ever exist — and Laurent had met Tom Hanks, so that was a huge compliment.</p><p>Herode still looked a little dazed as Damianos led him to the long, banquet table, where all the food — and most importantly, the cake — had been set up.</p><p>Everyone gathered around to sing <em>Happy Birthday, </em>Laurent clapping along and laughing loudly.</p><p>The servants immediately rushed forward as Herode blew out his candles to cut the cake.</p><p>It was glorious: four tiers of dark chocolate, coated in milk chocolate ganache, with a gooey, heavenly caramel centre. Odette truly had outdone herself. Laurent needed to send her a gift basket tomorrow morning.</p><p>The Portrait Chamber had been set up with rows of velvet chaise lounges to watch movies, but Laurent didn’t feel like mingling with anyone besides Herode, who was currently in the middle of a circle of Council members, most of whom… tolerated Laurent, to put it mildly.</p><p>Laurent decided to head outside to the balcony with his generous slice of cake. Damianos was already out there, his own slice of cake perched on a plate next to him on the railing, unattended. He was smoking, inhaling deeply after each drag.</p><p>“Hey,” he said, smiling at Laurent. “So far, so good right?”</p><p>“Yes,” Laurent said, nodding. He sat himself down on the bench. “You shouldn’t smoke, you know. It’s a bad habit.”</p><p>Damianos took another drag. “God, I know. My great aunt passed last summer from lung cancer. She used to have eighty a day, easily. I’ve been trying to cut down since then, but haven’t fully managed to quit.”</p><p>Laurent’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s cancer got to do with anything? I meant you shouldn’t smoke because it’ll give you yellow teeth. <em>And </em>wrinkles.” He shuddered.</p><p>Damianos stared at him. “… I suppose that’s another good reason to quit, yes.” He put out his cigarette with a small grimace.</p><p>Damianos came up to sit down next to him, his cake nestled carefully inro his lap like it was precious cargo. He took a bite of it then grinned. “Holy fuck,” he laughed. “I seriously do love Odette.”</p><p>Laurent laughed, moaning around a spoonful. “God bless Odette.”</p><p>“Right? Have you considered commissioning a statue of her outside the Palace gates?”</p><p>“It’s pretty much all I do around here,” Laurent said, feeling gratified when Damianos laughed.</p><p>After a while, Damianos said, “This is honestly the best birthday cake I’ve ever had. And I’ve eaten cake made by the best pastry chefs in the world.”</p><p>Laurent licked the caramel off his spoon, humming in agreement. Even the smell of smoke, lingering off Damiano’s blazer, wasn’t putting him off from deliciousness.</p><p>“What’s the best birthday cake you’ve had? I think mine might be the one from my twenty-fifth. It was covered in <em>pretzels </em>and honestly changed my life.”</p><p>Laurent snorted, then thought about it. “I’ve never had birthday cake,” he admitted with a small shrug.</p><p>“What?” Damianos turned to him.</p><p>Laurent’s eyes widened. “I mean. I’ve had birthday cake, obviously. I’m having birthday cake right now. Ha ha. Oh, I know. Last year, for Aimeric’s birthday, they served a peanut butter and blueberry cake which you wouldn’t think would be a good combination but honestly it —”</p><p>“Laurent…” Damianos began slowly, watching him carefully. “Has no one… ever bought you a cake for your birthday?”</p><p>Laurent swallowed, eyes downcast. “I — not really.” At Damianos’ fierce, disgusted expression, he continued, “I mean — there’s really no point in anyone buying cake for me since nobody acknowledges my birthday.”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?” For some reason, Damianos looked horrified by this.</p><p>“Well,” Laurent said, heart racing. “It would be inappropriate to celebrate.”</p><p>“Why the fuck would it be inappropriate?”</p><p>Laurent winced. He still couldn’t look at Damianos’ face. “Well. My mother — the Queen, I mean — died while giving birth to me. And she was Al’s wife, obviously, so um. He always gets quiet right before the date and ignores me for like, several weeks before. And she was also Auguste’s mother — except, he actually knew her, so obviously he gets super sad right before the date too. And um —”</p><p>He stopped talking abruptly, because Damianos had turned red, and looked absolutely <em>furious</em>. In fact, Laurent hadn’t seen anyone so angry in a long time — and he was including Al.</p><p>There was a long, dangerous pause.</p><p>“Laurent,” said Damianos, and despite his clenched fists, there was nothing but kindness in his tone. “Whoever told you your birthday isn’t worth celebrating is <em>wrong. </em>Just plain wrong.”</p><p>“I —” Laurent didn’t think anyone <em>had </em>told him. It had just been… decided. “But it makes sense. The Queen died so it would be —”</p><p>“The Queen died a week after your birthday, Laurent. It’s still not —”</p><p>“She died three days, after, actually,” Laurent said quietly. “And she was really sick. I’ve seen documentaries about her and apparently the doctors didn’t think she’d make her pregnancy, but she really wanted to keep me, so in a way, <em>I </em>killed —”</p><p>“Stop,” Damianos said, eyes wide. That strange look was back: halfway between furious and upset. “You weren’t responsible for killing your mother, god. Who the fuck —” Suddenly Damianos was in front of him, crouching down in front of him exactly like he had done this morning. “Laurent. Listen to me.”</p><p>Laurent looked at him reluctantly.</p><p>“Your birthday deserves to be commemorated. <em>You </em>deserve to be celebrated. The fact that your father and brother fucking <em>ignore </em>you several weeks before your birthday is —” Damianos cut himself off with a shake of his head. “God. I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone more than your father. He’s an asshole.”</p><p>Laurent reeled back, shocked. “That’s not true,” he said, voice shaking.</p><p>Everyone loved Al and Auguste. It was only ever Laurent who displeased them, so the problem was with him… Obviously. It had always been. Laurent was terrible: he drank too much, did drugs <em>way </em>too much, and he hooked up with too many strangers. He had made Hennike sick. Al was right to treat him like he did.</p><p>“It <em>is </em>true,” Damianos said, fiercely. “No father should treat their kid like that.”</p><p>“It’s not a big deal,” said Laurent, uncomfortable with the way Damianos was badmouthing Al. “It bothered me when I was a <em>child</em> but then I turned seven and realised Santa wasn’t real, Leonardo DiCaprio was straight, and birthdays aren’t such a huge deal.”</p><p>Damianos shook his head, slow and sombre. “That’s not the point, Laurent. The King is… he’s not a good father.”</p><p>Laurent bristled. “I think you should watch yourself,” he said coldly. “You’re talking about the <em>King.</em>”</p><p>Damianos opened his mouth, and then the French doors opened.</p><p>“Hey,” said a dark haired Akielon man. “The movie’s starting.”</p><p>“Laurent —” said Damianos.</p><p>Laurent put down his cake and sprung to his feet. “The movie’s starting. Let’s go.”</p><p>He hurried away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Girlfriend.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>again, sorry this is late!! people keep inviting me out on the weekends and its like...... rude, dont you know i have fics to upload??? so, sorry again. if its any consolation, this chapter is 8k+ and i genuinely thought it would never end lol.</p><p>also thank you SO MUCH for all your lovely comments. sorry i havent replied to them yet, but just know i definitely cried while reading them.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night ended after the third movie they watched — which was about a woman being stalked by an ‘alien’ that was clearly just three, maybe four, socks stacked up on top of each other, complete with googly eyes. It had been the most realistic monster by far. Laurent thought it must have been the way it was shot: the monster lasted on screen for barely two seconds at a time, a very smart move. It reminded Laurent of the time Aimeric had made him watch a spy movie with the promise that Henry Cavill went nude in it, except the movie only showed Henry Cavill’s forearm and Henry Cavill wasn’t even in the movie, and the bare forearm had belonged to Vin Diesel.</p><p>Either way, Laurent liked Herode’s movie choice. It was a solid six out of ten. What was currently receiving a <em>negative</em> six out of ten was Damianos, who hadn’t stopped <em>staring </em>at Laurent from movies one to three.</p><p>Laurent had been sitting in between Damianos and Herode all night, and he had to make sure to keep his head turned to the left, towards Herode and the other Councillors so he didn’t accidentally make eye contact with Damianos. The only good thing about Damianos’ staring was that it wasn’t powerful enough to keep Laurent from eating his fourth slice of cake, and — more importantly, he supposed — everyone else in the room had interpreted it as a loving sort of stare and not a I-just-insulted-your-father-the-King-of-this-country kind of stare. So. A win for their weird, stilted, pretend relationship. Yay. Laurent was practically quivering from excitement.</p><p>Also — now that Laurent was thinking about ratings, while Damianos’ staring was a negative seven out of ten (he lowered the number because the lights had been turned on and the man was <em>still </em>staring) — Damianos himself, and his body, obviously, was very much a sixty out of ten. Laurent was obviously a hundred. Perhaps that was being too generous. Laurent was probably a hundred and thirty. Or — no. That was higher than a hundred. On second thought: one hundred was fine.</p><p>As the credits rolled on the projector screen, Herode turned to him. “Your Highness,” he said in a quiet voice, so as to not be overheard. “Thank you so much for tonight. I think it’s the best birthday I’ve ever had.” He smiled, and patted Laurent’s hand with a short tap. It was very mindful of Laurent’s no touching rule, since it last point-two seconds. “Really. Thank you.”</p><p>Laurent squirmed in his seat. “I told you I didn’t do anything. It was all — the King of Akielos.”</p><p>Herode peered at him with warm eyes, and gave him a soft smile. “I know, Laurent.”</p><p>Laurent flushed. He said in a whisper, “You’re welcome.”</p><p>The party was coming to its natural end: everyone was getting up, the servants were rushing forward to pick up said vacant seats and — the most heart-breaking thing of all — wheeling away the banquet table. There was still crumbs left from the cake. Were they really going to throw it out? God, what a waste.</p><p>Laurent knew Damianos was still watching him with those wonderful, coffee-drop eyes. He considered running full speed out of the Portrait Chamber. But then that would mean he would actually have to run. And Laurent didn’t run. Unless he was running towards cake. And the cake had been finished. So there would be no running. Unless he had to run because of —</p><p>“Laurent? Can I talk to you please?” Damianos had moved out in front of him.</p><p>Laurent rolled his eyes. “God. I don’t think even superheroes say their catchphrases as much as you say that one line.”</p><p>Damianos’ face made a strange expression, something between embarrassment and constipated. The fact that he could make that look endearing was a worrying thing. “I thought my catchphrase was ‘I need to talk to you.’”</p><p>Laurent frowned. “Whatever. You still said ‘talk’”.</p><p>Damianos’ lips twitched. “Yes. I suppose I did.” Then he cleared his throat. “Can I walk you to your room?”</p><p>“Why?” Laurent frowned. “I’m not some three year old who can’t read a map. Also, I live here. I know how to walk to my room. Between the two of us, you would be more likely to get lost.”</p><p>“It’s a thing,” Damianos said. “Like — you know in movies — the guy is always like ‘hey, let me walk to your room’ and the girl is like ‘yeah, sure’ and then they… walk.”</p><p>Laurent glared at him. “Are you calling me a <em>girl</em>?”</p><p>“No!” Damianos said. He shook his head. “Look. Let me start over. Hi, my name is Damianos and I am the King of —”</p><p>“You don’t need to go back that far.”</p><p>“Oh my god,” Damianos said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with my brain. It’s not working.”</p><p>Laurent said, “It’s probably turned to mush because of the cake.”</p><p>“No,” Damianos shook his head again. “Odette would never do that to me. Look. Let me just start again: may I walk with you to your room?”</p><p>“Like… behind me?”</p><p>Damianos rubbed a hand on his forehead. “I feel like you’re being difficult on purpose.”</p><p>Laurent averted his eyes. “I don’t mean to be.”</p><p>There was a pause, and then Damianos stepped closer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” Damianos paused another beat. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yes,” Laurent said, because it was true. Laurent was always just <em>okay</em>, or on the verge of it. On days where <em>okay</em> was unreachable, he had his mother’s portraits. “Thank you for asking.” He watched Damianos nod, his curls wonderful and perfect on his head. “You may walk with me to my room.”</p><p>Damianos smiled, with his magnificent teeth. His eyes caught something over Laurent’s shoulder, and then he said with more exuberant cheer than necessary, “Let’s go, sweetheart.”</p><p>Laurent felt his face colour. “Is someone behind us?”</p><p>“Yep,” said Damianos, still smiling. “Shall we, then?”</p><p>Laurent chanced a quick glance back; the Kyros of Delpha was staring at them, mouth scrunched in displeasure, as though he was watching a very aggressive performance of two birds fornicating. Laurent had seen that very scene once, as a child, and it had scarred him. Auguste had laughed and said, “Do you think you can draw me a picture of it?” Then Al had seen it, tucked away on top of his study desk, and had taken away dessert from him for a whole <em>week. </em>It had been torture.</p><p>They walked out the Chamber, and down the end of the hallway in total silence. Near the wall where all the suits of armours were lined up, Damianos made to take a left, then stopped when he saw Laurent turning right.</p><p>“You’re not in the south wing?” Damianos said, “It’s where the King’s Chamber is. And the Crown Prince’s.”</p><p>Laurent shifted. “No.”</p><p>He didn’t elaborate, and Damianos didn’t comment on it, even though that furious expression had settled onto his face again.</p><p>Damianos turned right, then stood next to Laurent, until they started walking down the hallway together.</p><p>As they walked for three minutes in total silence, Laurent said, “Is everyone eerily quiet in the movies too?”</p><p>“Depends. Probably if it’s horror,” Damianos said. “Or they just edit it out.”</p><p>Laurent hummed and gripped his elbows.</p><p>Damianos said, “I liked the last movie the best. What about you?”</p><p>“Yes. Me too. It was nice that she managed to get married in the end, even though the alien ate her husband on their honeymoon.”</p><p>Damianos nodded. “Yeah, that was a bummer. Who knew socks could be so lethal?”</p><p>Laurent smiled. Then he said, “You know once, a truck tipped over on one of Arles’ main highways and like, hundreds of thousands of boxes full of socks fell out and caused like a ten car pileup.”</p><p>“I —” Damianos blinked. “Wow.”</p><p>“Just another example of how dangerous socks can be.”</p><p>“My great grandfather always wore wet socks to bed — don’t ask — and the doctors ended up amputating his foot,” Damianos said. “Because of the hypothermia, I think.”</p><p>“My god.” Laurent said. “Is that why King Demetrius was like, five inches shorter in all his later photos?”</p><p>“Yep,” Damianos said. “The craziest part was that he didn’t stop wearing wet socks on his other foot. Pretty sure he was buried in it.”</p><p>Laurent’s nose scrunched. “Should we start some law against socks? I feel like we’re onto something.”</p><p>“Oh, definitely. Once I get back to Ios, I’ll start drafting a new law.”</p><p>“Are you making fun of me?”</p><p>“A little bit. But I feel like you were kind of making fun of me as well.”</p><p>“I was.” They had reached the double doors outside Laurent’s room. “So. You know the rule.”</p><p>Damianos grinned. “I think your hair looks lovely tonight.”</p><p>Pleasure raced through Laurent’s chest. “Whatever,” he said, looking away.</p><p>Damianos was doing that <em>staring </em>thing again. It was different from normal staring, hence the need for <em>italics</em>.</p><p>It was kind of like when a puppy dog looked at you right before you snuggled them in your arms, against your chest. Except more… intense. So maybe not a puppy dog, but like a bull, or an alligator or — a lion. That was it. A lion cub. Or a lion… teenager?</p><p>Oh god. He was losing his mind. “Stop looking at me like that,” he snapped.</p><p>Damianos didn’t stop <em>staring</em>. Instead, he said, “Look, I think we should talk about earlier.”</p><p>“Earlier? As is earlier in our history? Sure!” said Laurent. “Isn’t it weird that at one point our countries were joined? Like Veretians looked like Akielons and Akielons looked liked Veretians. Wow, I said <em>like </em>a lot in that sentence. Anyway, what a crazy concept, huh. Speaking of — you know what’s funny — <em>Vogue </em>said once that I had all quintessential Veretian features but I take after the Queen, who was Kemptian. So really, I look much more Kemptian than Veretian, which is funny, because we live in Vere. Well, <em>I </em>live in Vere. You’re not from here. Not that you aren’t welcome or anything —”</p><p>“Laurent,” Damianos said, frowning. “I really do like hearing you ramble, honestly. But can I just go first?”</p><p>“Go first to the bathroom? Sure! There’s one down the hallway that no one uses because it’s rumoured to be haunted just because <em>one </em>nobleman got stabbed in there and died. Like grow up, it was a hundred years ago.”</p><p>“Really?” Damianos looked intrigued and sufficiently distracted. “Why did he get stabbed?”</p><p>“He was sleeping with both of his brother’s wives.”</p><p>“Did one of his brothers stab him?”</p><p>“No, one of the wives after she found out about the other one.”</p><p>“Okay,” Damianos contemplated this. He pointed a finger at Laurent. “You’re going to show me this bathroom later. But for now —” He sighed. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry I upset you, but I stand by everything else I said. You deserve a million — yes <em>a million</em> — birthday cakes and your father’s still an asshole.”</p><p>“He’s the King,” Laurent said, frostily, though not as frostily as before.</p><p>“Yeah, he is. And he’s an asshole. People can be two things.”</p><p>Laurent nodded. “Like Rihanna. Artist and entrepreneur.”</p><p>“…Yes.” Damianos said slowly. He took a step closer. “I just… I don’t want you to think that the way your father treats you is normal, or right — because it isn’t.”</p><p>“I —” Laurent swallowed uncomfortably. “You don’t know anything about our relationship.”</p><p>“I know enough to deduce that your father is an asshole.”</p><p>Laurent exhaled. In all truthfulness, Al’s behaviour wasn’t always… nice. But that was only because of Laurent. Al was really nice to Auguste, who was perfect, and he was nice to everyone else, including Damianos. Laurent was… not nice, so Al was not nice back. Damianos was missing half the picture.</p><p>That’s what he said out loud: “You’re missing half the picture.”</p><p>“Which is?”</p><p>“Well…” Laurent frowned. “You said it yourself: my public scandal section online was like more than a thousand words.”</p><p>“So what?” Damianos’ said aggressively, looking furious again. “That shouldn’t matter.”</p><p>“It shouldn’t matter if you’re…” Laurent lowered his voice. “A commoner. But as a <em>prince </em>it’s unacceptable.”</p><p>“Well, as a <em>King</em>, I think it’s —”</p><p>Laurent put his hands over his ears and shook his head. “I refuse to listen to any more. You’ve said enough for me to legally execute you.”</p><p>“No, I haven’t.” It was insulting that Damianos didn’t even need to raise his voice to penetrate through Laurent’s impeccable hand-blocking defence. “Besides, I could easily override your execution since I’m the King.”</p><p>Laurent lowered his hands. “Show off.”</p><p>“Well, I got the Kingship because my mother passed away — so I don’t think it’s really showing off. I mean, I’d rather have my mother.”</p><p>Laurent pressed his lips together and gripped his elbows again. “I’m sorry. That sucks.” He remembered Queen Egeria’s funeral, almost three years ago. Only Al had attended. He hesitated a little before he said: “I’d rather have my mother, too.”</p><p>Damianos gave him a soft, warm smile. “I know.” He searched Laurent’s face. “I — Listen. I’ll stop bringing up your asshole father <em>if </em>— hold on, let me finish — if you promise me you’ll just think about what I said. All of it.”</p><p>Laurent turned his eyes to the ceiling, thinking. “I guess,” he said.</p><p>Damianos gave him another terribly handsome smile. “Do you want to go riding with me tomorrow?”</p><p>“Why? Are you going to propose to me?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The last time someone asked me go horseback riding with him, he proposed to me. While he was still on top of the horse. Because he said that he’d rather die than bend at the knee for any royal.” Laurent pursed his lips. “To be honest, I think he just said that because he was seventy and recently had knee surgery.”</p><p>“Why the fuck were you out with a seventy year old?”</p><p>Laurent shrugged, flushing. “Al said it would be a good match.”</p><p>“Of course he did,” Damianos said, rolling his eyes. Then he sighed. “I’m not going to propose. I don’t have a ring on me. Otherwise I definitely would.”</p><p>“Is that a joke?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Laurent looked at him.</p><p>Damianos let out a breathy laugh. “Laurent. I think you’re crazy cool and want to hang out with you. I know you like riding. So. Would you like to go riding with me tomorrow morning?”</p><p>“…You think I’m cool?” Laurent felt a little faint.</p><p>“Very,” Damianos said, smiling. “I read an article about you jumping out of a moving car just to avoid paparazzi.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah.” Laurent had actually done that because his favourite Hermes infinity scarf had flown out the window, and Evan, the billionaire businessman he’d been sort of seeing at that time, had refused to stop the car because they were late to his sister’s wedding. They hadn’t even been late by that much — only two hours.</p><p>“So you’ll go with me?”</p><p>“Yes,” said Laurent, “but only if you’ll tell me what you would rate me out of ten.”</p><p>“What?” Damianos shook his head. Then, apparently deciding an answer wasn’t worth it, said: “Um. Okay. A ten. Obviously.”</p><p>“A <em>ten</em>?” Out of everything Damianos had said tonight, this was by far the most offensive. “<em>That</em><em>’s it?</em>”</p><p>“I — Didn’t you say the scale was out of ten? I gave you the highest number.”</p><p>“Yes. But I just gave you a sixty!”</p><p>“What? When?”</p><p>“While we were watching movies! I gave you a sixty out of ten!”</p><p>“But you said —”</p><p>“You know what. Forget it. I’m going to bed.” Laurent shuffled back, until his back hit the doors. “You’re dismissed, Your Majesty.”</p><p>“Laurent come on —”</p><p>“Bye!” Laurent said, and shut the door after him.</p><p>*</p><p>In the morning, Laurent was met with the amazing sight of Damianos standing outside his bedroom doors.</p><p>He screamed, and Jord and Lazar reached for their blades.</p><p>Damianos lifted his hands, wincing. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”</p><p>Laurent stared at him. “Have you been standing here all night?!”</p><p>“What? No! I just got here.”</p><p>Behind Damianos’s shoulder, Jord flashed both his hands four times.</p><p>Laurent gaped at him. “You’ve been waiting here <em>forty </em>minutes? Why?”</p><p>Damianos winced again. “Okay. Yes. But I didn’t know when you were going to wake up and I didn't want you to leave without me.”</p><p>“Leave without you?”</p><p>“Yes. For our riding. I… We left it unclear last night. Whether you were going. With me.”</p><p>“Because you insulted me. Deeply.”</p><p>“Yes, I know,” Damianos said sombrely. “I’m here to rectify that. Would you like to hear your new rating?”</p><p>Laurent crossed his arms, waiting.</p><p>Damianos cleared his throat, and then paused for — Laurent assumed, at least — dramatic effect. “Sixty-nine out of ten.”</p><p>“Oh…” Laurent’s throat was clogging up. “…That’s really sweet.”</p><p>“You deserve it.” Damianos spread his arms. “Will you go horse riding with me now? I think I’ve asked you twenty times at this point. I don’t know if my ego can take any more non-answers.”</p><p>Laurent bit his lip. “Yeah. Okay.”</p><p>Damianos looked relieved. “Thank you,” he said.</p><p>Laurent smiled. It had been — never, actually — since someone had been so excited to hang out with him. And this man was a <em>King, </em>so it was making Laurent feel even better. Inside, especially. He felt all warm and gooey, like a hot fudge cookie. God. Laurent wanted a hot fudge cookie so bad now. Maybe they could take their horses to Odette.</p><p>When they reached the stables, it was clear that Damianos had planned for a long ride: his guards — all six of them — were completely saddled up, and there were about ten members from the house staff, carrying wicker baskets, drinks and a large, furry mat.</p><p>“Oh,” said Laurent, petting Shakespeare. “Are we having one of those events where we sit on the ground and eat?”</p><p>“…A picnic? Yes.”</p><p>Laurent wondered if a picnic was something you did when you wanted to apologise to someone. It seemed to be the only reason people were taking him on them.</p><p>Damianos swung onto the Percheron that had been lent to him during his stay — a beautiful white one named Coco (after Coco Chanel, obviously) — with an ease that sent Laurent’s heart racing.</p><p>Damianos waited until Laurent was comfortable on top of Shakespeare before they trotted off, flanked by their little army of staff and guards, who followed at a respectable distance.</p><p>“Your horse is beautiful,” Damianos said. “I can’t get over him.”</p><p>“Yes,” Laurent agreed. “Al gave him to me and said I could name him whatever I want, so long as it wasn’t a swear word.”</p><p>“How… generous.”</p><p>“I named him Shakespeare,” Laurent said.</p><p>“Not Prada?” Damianos said, smiling.</p><p>“Oh my god how did you know?” Laurent beamed. “That was my first choice, actually. But then I found out that the Queen had called her horse Shakespeare so I —” He flushed under Damianos’ expression. “I named him Shakespeare.”</p><p>“Shakespeare’s a wonderful name,” Damianos said quietly.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>After a while, Damianos said, “I’ve never named any of my horses.”</p><p>“What?!”</p><p>“Yeah, I know,” Damianos shrugged. “When I was a kid, I thought it was majorly uncool and then I grew up, and then… I dont know — the habit never stuck.”</p><p>“That’s inhumane!”</p><p>“Well. I mean. Inhumane is a strong wor —”</p><p>“In. Hu. <em>Mane.</em>”</p><p>“Alright,” Damianos made a little grimace. “Why don’t you give me a name that I can call my horse?”</p><p>“Really?” Laurent perked up. “Okay. Givenchy.”</p><p>“Oh — that’s. Maybe something —”</p><p>“Givenchy.”</p><p>Damen paused. “Yeah, it’s perfect. Thank you.”</p><p>They rode in comfortable silence for a while, going past the lake, and further up, to the edge of the Forrest. Laurent usually didn’t ride up here, but Damianos seemed very sure of this path. Damen was naturally like this, Laurent realised: commanding, powerful, confident. Laurent didn’t think he could go to Ios and just… ride any path. It had taken Laurent ten years to feel confident enough to ride his usual path and he <em>lived </em>here. He felt… really inadequate whenever he compared himself to Damianos.</p><p>They reached a small clearing, close enough to the water that they could still hear it lapping over the rocks.</p><p>Damianos commanded everyone to stop with a raised hand — and that <em>definitely </em>didn’t suddenly make Laurent’s pants tight. Ha. Ha.</p><p>They swung off their horses: Laurent’s descent was not as graceful as he hoped because of a certain issue, but Damianos was too busy instructing his staff to set up the picnic to notice.</p><p>As soon as the blanket had been set up, Damianos laid down on it, his body large and straight, his hands shielding his eyes from the sun.</p><p>Laurent swallowed. He shifted on his feet. “Um.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Damianos peered up at him. “Oh. Hey. Lie down.”</p><p>“I don’t think so,” Laurent said. “Um. This is Chanel.”</p><p>Damianos snorted. “And mine’s Valentino. We’ll survive.”</p><p>“Y-You’re wearing Valentino?” Laurent said quietly, eyes tracking over Damianos’ body helplessly.</p><p>“Mmm. Come lie down.”</p><p>Laurent stared at the space next to Damianos’ and made a strangled coughing sound.</p><p>“I will stand. Thank you.”</p><p>“What?” Damianos’ propped himself up on his elbows. “At least sit down, Laurent. I can buy you another Chanel outfit.”</p><p>“Okay,” Laurent said. He <em>was</em> feeling a little light headed.</p><p>He sat down, making sure to keep reasonable distance from Damianos, who had laid back down again, stretched out.</p><p>Laurent let out a small whimper, which he disguised as a violent coughing fit.</p><p>A coughing fit which had sounded too genuine: Damianos immediately shot up in concern, four different guards rushed to him, and so did all ten of the kitchen staff with glasses of water.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Damianos said, looking at him with concern.</p><p>Laurent made a sound of affirmation, something that sounded like a dying cat wailing.</p><p>Damianos’ eyebrows knitted. His hand hovered above Laurent’s shoulder, like he wanted to touch it, but knew he shouldn’t.</p><p>Laurent made another dying noise because — well. He really wanted Damianos to touch him, but that would mean going back on the <em>no touching </em>rule and that had been implemented for Very Good Reasons and whatnot and Laurent was a little afraid if Damianos touched him now, Laurent would want him to do it all the time, and that was Bad because Damianos was going to Ios soon and what was Laurent supposed to then? Fly over the continent every time he wanted the King’s large, strong hands on him? How ridiculous. Or maybe it wasn’t ridiculous? He didn’t know any more.</p><p>Was he really spiralling because of the <em>thought </em>of a friendly pat on the shoulder? Oh, he was doomed. He really was. He was going to have a panic soon if he didn’t stop himself.</p><p>With careful movements, Laurent pressed his knees to his chest, trying to put as much pressure there as he could, until he felt his lungs ease up.</p><p>Damianos was watching him with worried eyes.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Laurent said, attempting a smile. “Hayfever season and all that. Ha.”</p><p>“Oh,” Damianos frowned. “I see. Do you want to head back inside then?”</p><p>Laurent shook his head. “No! Please.” He flushed, and knew colour was streaked across his nose and ears.</p><p>There was a smile stretching across Damianos’ face, even as his eyes were clouded. “You sure?”</p><p>“As sure as King James was when he abdicated the throne to marry his cousin and start a subpar jewellery line.” When he was met with resounding silence, he winced and said, “Not that I want to marry any of my cousins. I mean, I don’t have any cousins <em>to </em>marry — well, except for Nicaise, but he’s not a blood relative and he is also definitely related to the devil.”</p><p>“Oh god, that kid from the art exhibition?” Damianos lay back down. “He was a nightmare and then some.”</p><p>“Right?!” Laurent didn’t think he had ever been more attracted to anyone in his life. “Oh my god. He’s the worst. You know once he convinced his mother that his boarding school had been moved, and he spent three weeks skiing on Vaskian mountains before she realised.”</p><p>Damianos threw back his head with a loud laugh. “God. You know he stabbed my thigh at the art exhibition?”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>”</p><p>“With a <em>fork </em>of all things. I have a fucking scar now.”</p><p>“You missed a chance to execute him and rid this world of evil.” Laurent said, and then as Damianos laughed again: “Can I see?”</p><p>“See what?”</p><p>“See the scar,” Laurent said. He was staring intently at Damen’s magnificent thighs. They really were the best part of a man’s body. Especially <em>this </em>man’s.</p><p>“I would have to take off my pants,” Damianos said after a moment.</p><p>“Hmmm.”</p><p>“…Maybe later.”</p><p>That wasn’t a <em>no</em>, thought Laurent, pleased.</p><p>A few moments later, the staff began laying out the food on a long, wooden board, after Damianos gave another lazy gesture. Laurent could never do that. Once, while he was choking on a peanut, he wrapped a hand around his throat, and pointed to himself with the other as he coughed up a lung, and Lazar brought him a toothbrush because he had thought Laurent was miming brushing his teeth.</p><p>Unlike Auguste, the spread Damianos had prepared consisted mostly of fruit, honey and bread — the amazing kind that had been stuffed with olives. Laurent went straight for the bread, which was still warm and smelt heavenly.</p><p>Damianos pulled himself up on his elbows again. “Is this enough food for you? The kitchen staff said you normally eat three times this amount but I think they were joking.”</p><p>Laurent knew very well the kitchen staff would not dare to joke with the King of a foreign land so he said, “Um. Hmmm.” And stuffed more bread into his mouth.</p><p>“You’re not going to eat the fruit?”</p><p>Laurent snorted so loud, one of Damianos’ guardsmen jumped, and then looked around wildly.</p><p>“You don’t like fruit?” Damianos said, amused. “It’s so good for you.”</p><p>“So? I don’t plan on living a long time,” Laurent said. “Jord and Lazar have explicit instruction to assassinate me as soon as I get my first wrinkle.”</p><p>Damianos was smiling so hard, his eyes had turned into two crescents. “Do your guardsmen listen to everything you say?”</p><p>“Pretty much,” Laurent said. “It’s why Al hates them so much.”</p><p>At the mention of Al, Damen’s face set into grim lines.</p><p>Laurent shifted, uncomfortable. He shouldn’t have said anything. Inevitably, he always said something that pissed someone off, or made them sad, or confused them, or scared them or worse — the most terrible outcome, every time — was that they pitied him. Laurent <em>hated </em>it.</p><p>But then Damianos’ face cleared, and he gave Laurent a small smile. Still on his elbows, he nodded towards the green lawn, the edge of the Forrest, where the huge trees were lining it.</p><p>“I never realised how green your country is,” Damianos said. “It’s very different to Ios.”</p><p>“Yeah, our climate change initiative is one of the best in the world.” Laurent said, then added: “Sorry. That was a bad joke,” at Damianos’ blank stare. He cleared his throat. “I imagine Ios is more blue than anything. Because of the ocean and all that.”</p><p>“It <em>is </em>very blue,” Damianos said. “You should come visit in the summer. It’s the best time to visit.”</p><p>“Oh. Really?”</p><p>“Yeah. It’ll be fun. We can go hiking, swimming, play <em>okton </em>—”</p><p>“The sport that kills people?”</p><p>“Well. Yeah. But you only die if you’re a complete novice.”</p><p>“Which I am.”</p><p>“Ah. Yes. I suppose then you would die.”</p><p>Laurent considered this. “Sounds fun.”</p><p>Damianos raised an eyebrow a him, smirking.</p><p>Laurent looked away. He said, “I want a garden as green as this when I move out.”</p><p>“You’re going to move out?” Damianos seemed surprised by this.</p><p>“I know it’s not royal policy or anything… but I don’t know.” Laurent ripped off a chunk of his bread. “I never imagined living here after I get married.”</p><p>In a quiet voice, Damianos said, “What kind of place would you want to live in?”</p><p>Laurent whirled on him, excited. “Okay. Picture this: a sprawling manor with about two hundred rooms, every room painted an eggshell white with a monsoon trim, fireplaces in every room, lots of natural light, a <em>huge </em>pool, and a yard large enough for like, six dogs, four cats, a few rabbits, some hamsters — ” He flushed and cut himself off with another dry cough. “I mean. I’ve never thought about it. That was my first time.”</p><p>Damianos said, “That sounds lovely.” He sat up suddenly, and dug through one of the wicker baskets to pull out another piece of bread. He held it up to Laurent’s. “To your manor. I hope you get it.”</p><p>Laurent laughed in disbelief and pressed his bread to Damianos’, in the weirdest toast he had ever done — and he was including that time Ambassador Cece forced everyone to toast her dead cat during the Christmas banquet.</p><p>Damianos gave him another small smirk and then began eating with relish, practically moaning with each bite.</p><p>Laurent stared at him for several moments. He could feel his heart in his chest, thudding against his skin, flushing him with warmth and happiness until he felt dizzy from it, but the good kind of dizzy, where everything was hazy and rose-tinted.</p><p>Oh god. Laurent wasn’t going to die playing <em>okton</em>, he was going to die right here, this morning. On a <em>rug. </em></p><p>He deliberately stopped thinking, and then turned back to the bread, which was uncomplicated and delicious.</p><p>*</p><p>On Wednesday morning, Laurent was allowed to attend the Council meeting. Except, he couldn’t focus on anything except for Damianos who was… glowing. There was something different about him. Laurent had seen him <em>high five</em> one of the Veretian guards outside the door, right as they had entered. Laurent could have also sworn that he had been humming Britney Spears under his breath. And — weirdest of all — he had said the portrait of Crown Prince Gesmund, painted when he had been inflicted with a strange disease that had broken out his face in red and green hives, was <em>nice. </em>Laurent had had very specific and scary dreams about that portrait from ages four to thirteen. There was nothing <em>nice</em> about it.</p><p>After the meeting, Damianos approached him with a smile that was slightly maniacal. It was <em>huge</em> and seemed frozen on his face.</p><p>“Are you high?” Laurent said. “Nicaise didn’t give you his stash did he? I think it’s mostly moss and baby powder.”</p><p>Damianos laughed. “I really do like hearing you talk.”</p><p>“Oh.” Laurent wiped his sweaty palms against the sides of his thighs. “I. Hm. The. Yes. Hi.”</p><p>“Hi,” said Damianos, still smiling in that deranged way. “Do you want to hear a secret?”</p><p>“Oh sure! Is it about the Ambassador from Patras? Because I have a feeling he’s like, part of the mafia or the circus — but with knives. Just a theory, but I feel good about it.”</p><p>Damianos leaned in closer. “Jo’s flying in to Arles tonight.”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“Jo! My —” Damianos lowered his voice. “You know. <em>Jo</em>.”</p><p>“Oh.” Laurent’s eyebrows furrowed. “What is she doing here?”</p><p>“She’s been on this… uh, trip for the last month and today’s her last day — and instead of going home she’s coming up all the way here to see <em>me</em>.” Damianos looked goofy like this. Goofy and… endearing. “Her advisors will be with her too, but.” He shook his head. “I’m just really excited to see her.”</p><p>“That’s nice,” Laurent said, after he had processed all this, particularly the <em>advisors</em> part. What kind of adult career needed <em>advisors</em>? “Make sure you don’t take her to <em>The Merlot. </em>You didn’t hear it from me, but there’s a rat infestation down there right now.”</p><p>“No, I’m not going to —” Damianos stepped close again. “I can’t leave the Palace for long, Laurent. My Kyroi are… It’s been a bit difficult dealing with them, actually.”</p><p>“Because of me?”</p><p>Damianos didn’t answer him, but his mouth pursed in a way that confirmed Laurent’s suspicions. All Damianos said, however, was: “Come with me, tonight. Please.”</p><p>“Come with you where?” Laurent lowered his own voice. “To see… your Jo?”</p><p>Damianos nodded. “I can’t just leave the Palace alone. Nikandros, especially, would get really suspicious. And it won’t be awkward, I swear! Like I said, Jo’s bringing other people too.”</p><p>“So instead of a third wheel I’d be what? A tenth wheel?”</p><p>“Technically a fifth wheel.”</p><p>“Maybe you and Jo should just meet up <em>alone. </em>I can show you how to sneak out of here, if you want.” Laurent considered Damianos’ height. “You might have to lose a few inches in between now and nightfall.”</p><p>“No — I. I’d like it if you were there.” Then, again: “Please.”</p><p>It was a very arousing thing to have a King say <em>please</em> — twice, at that — to you, Laurent thought.</p><p>But… Laurent didn’t know. He wasn’t good at meeting new people, and worse — what if Al caught him again? He was always so angry lately, all the time. What if he sent Laurent off to Patras or worse — to Belloy, where there were no Louis Vuitton pop up stores?</p><p>Damianos was just… <em>staring. </em>And this time, Laurent didn’t mind it.</p><p>“I —” He started, unsure, stomach rolling.</p><p>“Please,” said Damianos, a third time.</p><p>Laurent swallowed.</p><p>*</p><p>Per royal protocol, Damianos and he weren’t allowed to travel together, so Laurent spent the car ride alone, forehead pressed to the tinted windows, wondering whether it was too late to bail.</p><p>They were going to a bar Laurent had never heard of, but according to the ten Google reviews about <em>Gustav</em><em>’s, </em>it was either a “sad, decrepit hole” or “great for birthday parties if you just don’t care about how you look in front of your friends” according to Winston L. and mydickissobigineedtodeclareitatairports respectively. So, Laurent was definitely going to contract something by the end of the night.</p><p>The drive was also agonisingly long: Damianos and Jo had not wanted to meet up anywhere near Arles, where there was a chance of them being photographed by paparazzi or someone else with equal social media influence — a teenager with a Twitter account.</p><p>Almost an hour later, Laurent stared up at the exterior of <em>Gustav</em><em>’s </em>with horror. “Oh my god. I’m going to be murdered tonight.”</p><p>“No, you won’t,” said Lazar, his chest puffing. Jord nodded beside him. “We’ll protect you, Your Highness.”</p><p>Laurent stared at them, scoffing. He looked up at the neon sign, where all the letters had flickered out, except for <em>g</em>, <em>a </em>and <em>s</em>.</p><p>Damianos’ car pulled up, and he stepped out, adjusting his excessively fancy suit. Then again, wearing a dirty pillowcase would have been excessively fancy.</p><p>“This says <em>Gas</em>,” Laurent said, outraged as Damianos came up to him. “With a capital ‘G’!”</p><p>“Huh? Oh yeah, it’s nice.”</p><p>“It’s not <em>nice</em>! And look at this exterior! Every window is broken and — and is that <em>blood </em>on the door?”</p><p>Jord peered at it. “Yeah. It’s blood. But super old blood.”</p><p>“Oh, what a relief!” Laurent said. “This is disgusting. I refuse to go inside.”</p><p>Damianos turned to him, eyes wide. “I know it’s not — Look, I’m sorry, but this is the last place Jo and I thought anyone would find us.”</p><p>“Is that because everybody who’s entered here has died?”</p><p>Damianos coughed. “Well. If you think about it, people go to places and die all the time.”</p><p>“He’s right, Your Highness,” Jord said nodding.</p><p>“Ugh, shut up.”</p><p>“Please, Laurent? I’ll buy you anything you want.”</p><p>Laurent didn’t know why Damianos couldn’t just meet his girlfriend by himself. But the thought of potentially getting a new Lamborghini was too enticing, so he said: “Okay.”</p><p>‘Thank you,” Damianos pulled his shoulders back and began walking into the death trap. Then he turned back. “Actually, wait. I have another request. Please don’t ask what Jo does. Seriously. It — could jeopardise everything.”</p><p>“Oh my god, is she a <em>spy</em>?! I have so many questions if that is the case.”</p><p>Damianos’ mouth pursed. He made to answer and then stopped. He started again: “Also Corey and Michael don’t know anything about our <em>scheme, </em>alright? They’d flip if they did. So don’t mention that either.”</p><p>“So you want me to specifically mention our sham relationship and Jo’s career? Got it.”</p><p>Damianos smiled, and for a moment, he looked incredibly fond. It was not something Laurent was used to, so he didn’t really know what to do except say, “Meep.”</p><p>Damianos’ expression changed, and then he started walking back into — god — <em>Gas. </em></p><p>Laurent followed more reluctantly.</p><p>As soon as he entered, Laurent registered the darkness first, and then the horrible, cloying smell. He immediately started holding his breath. If he died, he was going to die by voluntary asphyxia than by being murdered.</p><p>There was a loud, high pitched squeal. Laurent jumped, and then Damianos was lifting someone up in his arms — the same way Laurent had guiltily imagined Damianos would do to him.</p><p>Damianos hugged Jo tight, then let her go to kiss her sweetly on the forehead.</p><p>Laurent hovered, staring. Jo was — to put it mildly — the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And Damianos was the most beautiful man so — his eyes were burning a bit, in all honesty.</p><p>Jo was tall, model tall, and her hair was a dark blonde, with golden highlights, and her skin was <em>luminous. </em>Like Edward Cullen levels of sparkling. And she had amazing breasts. That was a <em>huge </em>compliment from Laurent, considering his eyes never looked at that part of a woman, ever.</p><p>Then she turned big, blue eyes on him. “Hello, Your Highness. It’s nice to finally meet you.” God, her smile was amazing.</p><p>Laurent nodded and gave her a thumbs up.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” said Damianos.</p><p>“It smells like fish in here, that’s what’s wrong,” said a large man in a suit behind Jo. There was a woman in a bright red blazer next to him. They both looked like official spies — which Jo definitely wasn’t, wink wink.</p><p>“Like a fucking dead body,” the woman corrected the man. “Hi, Your Highness. I’m Corey.”</p><p>“And I’m Michael. Not Mike.”</p><p>Laurent nodded again and gave two thumbs up this time, wanting to die.</p><p>There was a resounding, awkward silence, as Michael and Corey stared at Laurent, Laurent stared at the barkeep, who looked like a evil wizened wizard set on destroying humanity, and Jo and Damianos stared at each other, smiling dreamily.</p><p>The silence went on for some time, until the murderous wizard barkeep said, “OI! No loitering! You guys fucking ordering or WHAT?”</p><p>Laurent’s mouth dropped open, affronted. He let out a loud scoff-slash-gasp.</p><p>Even Damianos looked miffed.</p><p>Jord said, “Your Highness, do you want me to apprehend this man?”</p><p>Laurent looked at Damianos and said, “This is your fault.”</p><p>Damianos flushed, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe we should just order.”</p><p>“And risk being poisoned?”</p><p>“Ha. I don’t think we’re going to get poisoned.”</p><p>“Can you confirm that?”</p><p>“I can taste your drinks before you drink them, Your Highness,” Lazar said.</p><p>“There we go! Problem solved.” Damianos said, spreading his arms wide. He turned back to Jo, and that dopey smile was back on his face. “Let’s go order,” he said, and held out his elbow. Jo looped her gorgeously manicured hand through Damianos’ elbow and smiled up at him.</p><p>As they left, she whispered, though not quietly enough to be unheard, “Is he always like this?”</p><p>Laurent’s chest concaved a little. He waited for Damianos’ response, but he couldn’t quite catch it; they were too far away.</p><p>A few minutes later, Damianos and Jo came came, still holding hands, the drinks being carried by one of Damianos’ guardsmen. Every single drink was worryingly dark, and the glasses were <em>yellow. </em></p><p>Damianos smiled at Laurent. “Come sit down.”</p><p>“I’m not —”</p><p>“I knew you would say that, so here.” From his pockets, Damianos produced several serviettes, slightly crumbled, and put them down over the booth seat. “To protect your lovely tush.”</p><p>Laurent bit his lip down on a smile. He turned to Damianos and fluttered his eyelashes. “You spoil me <em>so </em>much, Your Majesty.”</p><p>“You know it, baby.” Damianos winked.</p><p>Laurent’s brain came to a grinding halt. Oh god. He was too gay for this. This was bad.</p><p>Jo was looking between them, her lovely mouth pursed. She still looked beautiful like that.</p><p>Laurent averted his eyes and slid into the booth. The serviettes were bunching up under his butt, but he forced himself to keep still and not draw any more attention to himself.</p><p>Damianos sat down next to him, Jo, on his other side, and on the opposite end of the booth, Michael and Corey sat down.</p><p>The silence was infinitely more awkward now, as they all blinked at each other, before Damianos whispered something into Jo’s ear that made her laugh. Then the two of them began… giggling quietly at each other and god — what the fuck. <em>Why </em>had Damianos even invited him here?</p><p>Lazar picked up Laurent’s drink and took a sip from it. Then he began to cough violently. “Oh my fucking god —” He wheezed, spluttering, and Jord thumped him on the back. “Oh my god!” Lazar said, red and purple around the edges. “What the fuck was that? It tasted like sewage!”</p><p>Everyone stared at their drinks with apprehension.</p><p>Finally, Michael said. “I think I’m just going to order everyone different drinks.”</p><p>He came back with something that looked infinitesimally better, though it was still served in horrible, yellow glasses.</p><p>It served its purpose though: gradually, after Lazar had given his stamp of approval, everyone had begun to loosen up.</p><p>Laurent’s joke about two gay men walking into a zoo got a cheer from Corey and loud clapping from everyone, and he felt like he was floating. Alcohol was amazing. He wondered if Al would be more happy if Laurent got him drunk everyday.</p><p>Not that Laurent was drunk <em>now</em><em>… </em>he was just blurry. Blurry and soft. And he liked that he could just <em>feel </em>Damianos, the heat of them, as they sat close, pressed together — even though Damianos’ attention was solely on Jo, which was fine. It would have been weird if it wasn’t. So.</p><p>Half an hour later, as Damianos was <em>still </em>whispering into Jo’s ear, Michael leaned in over the sticky table top and said, “Hey. Do you run?”</p><p>Laurent burst out laughing, then realised it wasn’t a joke. “Oh,” he said. “Um. Definitely not.”</p><p>“Oh, really?” Michael said in surprise. His eyes made a slow, steady descent over Laurent. “That’s surprising. I mean, you definitely have the body for it.”</p><p>“Really?” said Laurent, pleased.</p><p>Damianos suddenly turned to him. “Hey, come with me to the bar. I need more drink. My drink.”</p><p>Laurent looked at Damianos’ full glass and said, “Okay.”</p><p>Jo watched them go with stormy eyes. Laurent had a sudden feeling that she didn’t like him, even though she, too, had scrunched her nose as she had slid into the booth.</p><p>At the bar, Damianos said, “Sorry, I thought you might want to get away from Michael. He’s a bit of a player.”</p><p>Laurent was confused. He hadn’t wanted to get away from anyone tonight except for the barkeep, who had been muttering something sinister under his breath for the majority of the evening.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Laurent said.</p><p>“He was hitting on you,” Damianos said, a small line forming above his right brow. “You know. Complimenting your body and all that.”</p><p>Laurent was still confused. “So? It’s pretty much what anybody ever compliments me on.”</p><p>“That’s not true,” Damianos protested. “I think you’re wonderful.”</p><p>Laurent frowned, even as his heart started speeding up. “No, you don’t. The only reason you and Jo agreed to my plan was because you both think I’m terrible.”</p><p>Damianos looked slightly mollified at that. “I — in the beginning, maybe. But I’ve come to really like you.”</p><p>“Well. Whatever.” Laurent crossed his arms and looked away. “I’ll probably screw something up and then you’ll have a good reason to hate me, finally. So.”</p><p>“Don’t say that,” Damianos said, and he was beginning to look upset. “I’m not waiting around for you to… screw up. Hey.” He bent his head so Laurent was forced to look at him. “I’m serious.”</p><p>Laurent pressed his lips together, and then nodded. “I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just been… a very long night.”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s been weird as fuck,” Damianos said. “I didn’t expect to feel so… awkward around Jo, to be honest. I was really excited to see her.”</p><p>“Oh. Well. I was mostly thinking about when the barkeep threw an empty glass at the wall and said it was supposed to keep the ghost out — but yeah. Sure. Your stuff is weird too.”</p><p>Damianos laughed. That fond look was back. “I like how honest you are,” he said. “Most people just tell me what I want to hear.”</p><p>Laurent stared at up at him. Maybe he <em>was </em>drunk, because he was feeling more fuzzy than blurry. “I…” He paused, started over. “I like you too.”</p><p>Damianos looked ridiculously happy. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Hey,” Jo sidled up to them, and Laurent jumped. “Have you ordered the drinks yet?” She slid her hand around Damianos’ waist, squeezing hard. She didn’t even look at Laurent.</p><p>For some reason, it greatly mattered to Laurent that she liked him. It was probably because she was a spy, and Laurent didn’t want to be on bad terms with the only spy he knew. He said, “Hello. I like your hair.”</p><p>“Oh,” She looked at him in surprise. “I — thank you, Your Highness.”</p><p>“I like your boobs, too.”</p><p>Damianos and Jo stared.</p><p>Laurent winced. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.” He coughed. “I also wanted to say thank you for lending me your boyfriend. Believe it or not, but this has been the healthiest relationship of my life — and it’s completely fake! Ha ha!” More silence. Laurent winced again. “I’m going to go sit back down now. Please order me a red. I fear anything else would kill me.”</p><p>“Will do,” Damianos said, smiling softly.</p><p>When he turned around, Jo said, in another one of those whispers that could be very easily overheard, “He’s really weird.”</p><p>“No he isn’t,” Damianos said sharply, and Laurent was flooded with that fuzziness again.</p><p>He sat back down, and Michael gave him a very charming, flirty smile.</p><p>Laurent pretended not to see it, and traced his finger across the tabletop. He immediately stopped, though, because it was extremely sticky.</p><p>Ten minutes later, after listening to Corey monologue about a burst pipe in her office — her secret <em>spy </em>office, Laurent was assuming — he realised that their drinks had never arrived.</p><p>As soon as Laurent looked at the bar, it was obvious why: in the corner, Damianos had Jo pressed to the lip of the bar top, and was kissing her hard, hands firm on her waist as she gripped the lapels of his fancy suit.</p><p>Laurent’s heart dropped to the floor, where it shattered completely.</p><p>It felt like his chest was on fire, smouldering him, making his throat close up. He burned with jealousy. He thought he might die — right here on the sticky floor of a place called <em>Gas.</em></p><p>“Oh, honey…” Corey’s voice floated around him. “You didn’t know they were together?”</p><p>Laurent looked back at Corey and Michael, who were both staring at him with twin expressions of pity. Laurent’s chest burned even more. He <em>hated </em>being pitied. He was a <em>prince. </em></p><p>“Don’t look at me like that!” he snapped, throat clicking as it refused to work. At their startled stares, he said, “Sorry. Sorry. I just. I don’t feel good. I think I’m going to go to my — to home. I.” He couldn’t breathe, and he needed to leave before a panic came in. “I. Here.” He placed a bunch of notes on the table top, hands shaking.</p><p>Right before he left, he made the mistake of looking towards Damianos one last time. Damianos’ hands had strayed lower, to a place that was indecent in a public place.</p><p>Laurent <em>burned. </em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Crush.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For ten agonising minutes, Laurent thought he was going to die. It truly felt like it — like his body was disobeying every order as he valiantly tried to suck in air in the backseat of the limousine. His skin flashed hot, then cold, and Laurent thought of all his favourite things to distract himself: freshly pressed linens, the sound of the air conditioner on a hot summer’s day, baby booties, the way the hot Italian intern said his name, how Ambassador Cece’s new cat always purred whenever Laurent entered the room, Tag Huer’s new watch collection…</p><p>When he closed his eyes, he could see it so clearly: Damianos’ large hands, the dark sprinkling of hair on his fingers, as they had pulled Jo flush against him. They had been kissing like the whole room had melted away, and they were the only two people in it.</p><p>Nobody had ever kissed Laurent like that.</p><p>He wondered what it was like, to have someone consume you as though you were the only person that mattered. He wondered what it would be like with <em>Damianos. </em></p><p>Damianos sometimes looked at Laurent like he was the only person worth listening to. Everything about him was so intense, so passionate: Laurent had seen him during Council meetings, had heard his speeches throughout the years, and even the way the he had written the invitation to Herode’s party had been overzealous.</p><p>He <em>liked </em>Damianos. God.</p><p>How had this even happened? Damianos wasn’t even that great. So what if he was handsome and tall and wide and kind and treated Laurent like an actual human being and got mad on Laurent’s behalf, instead of <em>at </em>him? That was just… being friendly. It was nothing.</p><p>But… He also made Laurent laugh a lot, and he had walked into one of Laurent’s favourite places like it was an honour Laurent had invited him at all, and he had let Laurent name his horse, and he had <em>cared </em>about Laurent’s stupid birthday cakes as though it was some great tragedy.</p><p>And he made Laurent happy.</p><p>He did the last thing so effortlessly, as though Laurent hadn’t spent the entirety of his life being content with feeling okay and nothing more.</p><p>With Damianos, everything was easy.</p><p>Laurent wanted him.</p><p>He wished he was Jo, and hated himself all that more for even thinking something like that.</p><p>He was just so tired of being left behind every single time.</p><p>Even tonight, he had been reminded of it: the fact that he was second place, unworthy of Damianos’ full attention — something Laurent knew he didn’t deserve in the first place. Except… it didn’t stop him from craving it.</p><p>Eventually, his chest eased up, like someone had taken mercy and removed their foot off it. He spent the last thirty minutes of the drive with his head pressed to the window again, carefully shutting off his brain. He didn’t want to think of anything — or anyone — in particular. He was too exhausted to anyway.</p><p>Once they reached the Palace, Laurent headed straight to the north wing, body thrumming in a strange way.</p><p>The Queen’s Portrait Room was dark, only bathed in cool, silvery moonlight. Laurent hated to think it — could only imagine Al’s reaction — but in this moment, it truly felt like she was here, in this room, waiting for him.</p><p>Then he turned on the light, and the room was washed with harsh white lighting from the spotlights and chandelier, and any trace of the moon’s presence disappeared.</p><p>He was alone, like always.</p><p>Laurent closed the door behind him as gently as he could without alerting the guardsmen, and sat down on the deep green velvet sofa, facing his mother’s wedding portrait.</p><p>She looked so happy in it. Laurent liked the fact that once upon a time, she had been like this: young, joyous, excited for a future with a man she loved. And he liked that she had gotten time to enjoy her first pregnancy and time with her first son. Her second one had caused her nothing but pain for nine months and three days.</p><p>Laurent had always felt sorry for that, ever since he had learnt about the true cause of his mother’s death, sometime before he had turned seven. He had watched it in a documentary called <em>Hennike: Queen, Lover and Mother. </em>The title had been terrible, but the <em>Mother </em>section, particularly her pregnancies, had shocked him.</p><p>Tears running down his face, he had babbled apologies into Al’s stomach one night, desperate for his father to know he hadn’t meant to hurt her.</p><p>Laurent didn’t remember if Al had ever said anything. He had only pulled Laurent carefully away from him, face ashen. Later, Auguste had come into his room to show him his new Nintendo. He had even let Laurent play on it, and he had fallen asleep with Auguste’s hands gently wiping his face. Laurent really liked that memory, actually. It made him feel safe sometimes, especially when Auguste was mad at him.</p><p>He quietly gathered his thoughts.</p><p>With the Queen smiling down at him, the diamonds on her neck reflecting in the light, even on canvas, Laurent said, “Okay. So. I have a crush on Damianos, apparently. Honestly, I didn’t see this coming. Did you? Again, I would like the record to note that I definitely didn’t.” He sucked in a breath. Somehow, it felt wrong to speak in such a light-hearted manner about it.</p><p>He ignored the queasiness in his stomach and barrelled on: “I mean having a crush on a man who is very much out of your league and committed to someone else isn’t ideal… so I should just.” Laurent paused, thinking, then sat up as it hit him. “Oh! I should fake my death! Sorry. Is death a sensitive subject for you? It probably is. Sorry. But I really think it’s the only option for me. Having feelings in general is like, the worst thing in the world. Having feelings for someone else is…” He tried to think of a word for it: painful, heart wrenching, soul crushing, desolating, melancholic, down in the dumps, even though it was the most disgusting saying ever — but nothing felt adequate enough.</p><p>“Anyway,” Laurent continued. “I need to figure out this whole death thing. Should I stage myself jumping off a cliff? Are there any cliffs around here? I don’t think so. Maybe a horse could trample over me? But no — all the horses here are too well trained for that.” He bit his thumbnail. “I mean — he’s leaving soon anyway.” His heart hurt a bit — perhaps a lot — as soon as he said it, but he went on: “So. I should just… Not deal with this at all. Lock it away forever, keep it to myself, etcetera etcetera.”</p><p>He inhaled sharply again, suddenly extremely light-headed. Laurent had never had to deal with something like this. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t had crushes before — in fact, he was always falling for someone. Once, Aimeric’s new, fit driver had asked him how he was, and Laurent spent three whole days thinking of him.</p><p>The first issue was that Damianos was the first person he had liked who was in a relationship with someone else. Whenever Laurent got these intense, dizzying crushes, he usually took the man in question to dinner, let them bend him over the nearest feasible surface, and then repeated steps one and two until he got bored of them.</p><p>He couldn’t do that here, obviously. Laurent despised cheating, no matter how erotic Hollywood made it seem. And more than that: he was worried about what Jo would do to him, considering the fact that she probably had a lot of spy gear up her sleeves. (Yes, Laurent meant that metaphorically and literally). Besides, he knew Damianos, who was nice, noble, loyal, would never disrespect his girlfriend like that.</p><p>The second issue was that a man like Damianos, who was safe and warm and made Laurent feel good, wouldn’t ever look twice in Laurent’s direction in any other circumstance other than their pretend courtship — much less fall for him.</p><p>Even though Damianos denied it now, the only reason they had begun hanging out together was because it boosted the legitimacy of Damianos and Jo’s affair.</p><p>And even if he and Damianos ever got together — for real — it would only fall apart within days, maybe weeks. Laurent could write a whole list, full of reasons why they were incompatible.</p><p>So. Yes. There was that. Laurent was okay with it, actually — now that he had <em>really </em>thought about it.</p><p>Logically, every thought fit together in a neat, little box. On paper, he was fine with having a small, dumb crush on the King of a foreign country. A King Al and the rest of Vere desperately wanted him to be with, while all the Akielons lived in fear over Laurent becoming a part of their lives.</p><p>It was a difficult, strange situation to be in, sure, but it would be over soon enough. Laurent just had to wait until the new summer interns came in, and then he would be distracted all over again.</p><p>“Alright.” He clapped his hands together, pleased with his very mature outlook. He addressed Hennike once more: “I am just going to wait this out. And then ignore the hell out of it. It would be unfair to Damianos to do anything else. Obviously, I don’t want to hurt him.” He cleared his throat noisily, flushing. God, he <em>liked </em>Damianos. As in <em>liked.</em> “Anyway,” he said again. Looking up at Hennike’s beautiful, blue eyes, he sighed, “Thank you for listening.” He hesitated a moment, then said in a rushed whisper, “Goodnight, Mama.”</p><p>He went red as he said it, like he always did. It just felt… illicit to say it, because he <em>knew </em>how infuriated Al would be, and how uneasy Auguste would look if they ever heard him say it. So, even here, with no one watching him, Laurent always said it as quietly as possible.</p><p>Sometimes he envied how confidently Auguste would say it during interviews: <em>Mama was the kind of person who</em><em>… Mama loved to … Mama always said…</em></p><p>He even said it in front of Al sometimes, like the time when Al had considered auctioning off a particular royal jewelled ring for charity. Auguste had leaned over to inspect the ring and had said, “Oh, I remember Mama wearing this to the Presidency Ball.” — and Al had nodded and said, “Yes, she wore it well.” Then he had seen Laurent hovering and snapped, “For god’s sake, straighten your collar.”</p><p>Al never ended up auctioning that ring off, for whatever reason.</p><p>As it was, Laurent knew he didn’t have a right to call Hennike Mama, but he liked to.</p><p>It was a bit like crushing on Damianos: Laurent knew he didn’t have the right to like him, but he did. <em>So</em> much.</p><p>The thought mellowed him so much, he felt like a lead on the sofa, unable to move.</p><p>He didn’t know how much time had passed, but the old grandfather clock suddenly struck, and he realised it was one in the morning. If the King’s guards saw him, they would definitely snitch to Al, those snakes.</p><p>He crept out of the room, relaxing when he saw the hallway was still dark and quiet. He began walking back to his room, deliberately trying not to think whether Damianos had come back to the Palace or not, or whether he had noticed Laurent had left. His left eyebrow, in particular, became very scrunched when he got worried. Laurent was absolutely not going to wonder if that had happened tonight as Michael and Corey relayed how hastily Laurent had left.</p><p>Maybe his mouth had scrunched up, too. It did that sometimes. Or maybe he would round on Michael, possessive and angry and demand: <em>What did you fucking say to him? </em>And he would be embarrassed, shocked by his outburst, but still wouldn’t regret it, even as Jo gave him that bitter, stormy look…</p><p>Maybe Damianos had just realised how much Laurent meant to him and was now rushing to the Palace to confess his love and then he would pick Laurent up on his feet and —</p><p>“And <em>why </em>are you up so late?”</p><p>Laurent jumped and swore.</p><p>Ah, fuck. At the end of the hallway, Al still made an intimidating figure in his silk robe and fuzzy slippers.</p><p>Laurent said the truth for once. “I was just walking. I’m going to bed.”</p><p>“Are you?” Al said, looking him up and down. “You really expect me to believe you’re not going to sneak out? You’re wearing your custom Tom Ford boots.”</p><p>Laurent’s heart leapt as he stared at his father, shocked. Al knew what shoes he was wearing! The evening had a silver lining after all! Was this the moment he and Al would finally bond? If Laurent had known Al liked Tom Ford so much, he would have worn nothing <em>but </em>Tom Ford this entire time, no matter what the fashion moguls and magazines said about him.</p><p>“You know these boots?” Laurent said in a quiet voice, quivering with disbelief.</p><p>Al’s eyebrows furrowed, hands on his hips. “Of course I bloody do. For some godforsaken reason, you decided to email the entire royal staff about them.”</p><p>“Oh.” The heavenly choir that had started singing in Laurent’s ears abruptly died. He remembered that email — subject line: <em>look at these fucking boots!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, </em>email body: <em>their custom made!!!!!!!!!!!!! just for me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! — </em>but he had only meant to send it to Auguste, who had been in Kempt, smoking cigars and sleeping with well-busted women, according the <em>Vere Weekly</em>.</p><p>Unfortunately, Zach, the new head of the marketing department, had been fucking him while Laurent had been wearing only said boots, so his thumb had slipped and he had accidentally CC’d all the royal contacts on his list. Honestly, the most embarrassing part for Laurent had been the wrong use of <em>their, </em>which Nicaise had brought up during every royal engagement for three months straight, until Laurent had finally just hit him on the back of his head with his riding boot.</p><p>Al said, “Laurent. If I even hear a little <em>whisper </em>of you going out tonight I will —”</p><p>“I’m not going out!” Laurent said. How was this <em>fair</em>? He had already done the sneaking out and was now being reprimanded for <em>walking</em>. “I really am just going to bed.”</p><p>It was probably because of the late hour, but Al didn’t push further. He gave Laurent one more once over and sneered. Then he nodded — one sharp, curt nod and pushed past him.</p><p>Laurent breathed a sigh of relief. A small mercy.</p><p>As he continued to walk down, he realised that Al shouldn’t have been out of bed, either. In fact, the north wing was on the opposite end from where Al’s bedroom was.</p><p>Laurent turned around, frowning. His features melted in surprise when he saw the end of Al’s robe disappear into the Queen’s Portrait Room.</p><p>*</p><p>Laurent spent the majority of the next morning at a fitting for a new tuxedo. The Akielons were leaving soon, and there was going to be a ball as a farewell event on Sunday evening. It was also one of the few events that was going to be photographed from start to finish, so Al’s instructions this morning had been very clear: <em>look good, shut the hell up, and stay out of trouble. </em></p><p>Laurent had simply nodded, staring at his father curiously for the first time in years. His mind had been whirring since last night: first, with thoughts of Damianos, and then thoughts of Al, in the one place in the Palace where Laurent sought comfort.</p><p>Did Al go there to… talk to his dead wife too? He had seemed so horrified that time he had caught Laurent doing it, but perhaps Laurent had mistaken his expression? Maybe Al had been relieved that someone did it as well? Or… maybe he just liked to see her. They had been in love, after all.</p><p>He told Auguste about it as his arms were being measured.</p><p>“So?” said Auguste, scrolling through his phone as he waited for the tailor to start taking his measurements. “He might have just wanted to inspect a portrait of hers.”</p><p>“Yes, but at one in the morning? Doesn’t that seem a little suspic — ow! Watch it!” Laurent glared down at the seamstress who had just poked his leg with an incredibly sharp pin. She didn’t like him for some reason — it might have been because he had slept with all three of her sons at the same time, but Laurent wasn’t completely sure.</p><p>“I don’t know. Maybe he just wanted to stare at her for a bit,” Auguste conceded.</p><p>Laurent bit his lip. “That’s what I was thinking. But I want to be sure. Can you please ask him for me? Only don’t mention me at all.”</p><p>Auguste finally looked at him, frowning. “Absolutely not. He’ll kill us both. You know how he gets when Mama is mentioned.”</p><p>There it was again: the casual utterance of <em>Mama. </em>Auguste didn’t know how lucky he was.</p><p>Laurent frowned back. “You won’t even try?”</p><p>“Nope,” Auguste said, and went back to his phone.</p><p>Laurent sighed. He looked down at the seamstress. “Will you do it?”</p><p>She poked him again.</p><p>*</p><p>Damianos was waiting for him outside his bedroom doors again.</p><p>Laurent’s heart fluttered when he saw him. And then he realised that his heart had been fluttering around Damianos for some time now. God, he was an idiot.</p><p>For the first time during this entire trip, Damianos looked unkempt and harried as he leant against the wall right next to Laurent’s bedroom. There were dark rings under his eyes, which were drooping and bloodshot. His hair had been unstyled too: his curls sat flat, frizzing near the tops of his ears and his nape. He was still a sixty out of ten, but just a lot more… dulled.</p><p>“Hung over?” Laurent said, attempting to keep his tone light.</p><p>Damianos jerked, then cast a glance to the closed doors. He looked back at Laurent with a small smile. “Shit. I totally thought you were still inside.”</p><p>Laurent returned his smile. “I had to get my tux fitted. Al forced me to get up early. I beat the <em>sun</em>. The freaking sun! I also think I made like, direct eye contact with a crow. Which is bad, right? I mean they remember faces and all that.” What the fuck was he saying. It took a lot of effort to stop his rambling. But Damianos liked his rambling, so maybe he should just keep going?</p><p>He was right: Damianos’ smile this time was much more genuine, and it stretched further along his face. He looked pleased as Laurent talked, and then: “I think Nikandros mentioned something about the tux fitting, but to be honest I was half asleep.” He shifted along the wall, head thunking against it. “I’m not hung over,” he said, as if no time had passed since Laurent’s initial question. “Just tired. I stayed with Jo until she had to leave for her flight early in the morning.”</p><p>“Oh.” Laurent’s entire stomach shrivelled up at the mention of Jo. Against his will, he remembered the way Damianos had kissed her, and he had to clench his fists to keep his sudden nausea at bay.</p><p>Now that he was looking at Damianos properly, he seemed <em>really </em>tired. Had he and Jo had sex last night? All night? No, right? Where would they have even had it? In Damianos’ limousine? Oh god, Laurent was going to be sick. Laurent didn’t want to think about Damianos sleeping with anybody, ever. Was it unreasonable to expect Damianos to be a virgin? Laurent really hoped he was. He could even forgive the kiss last night, if it was Damianos’ first. That was possible wasn’t it?</p><p>“Anyway,” Damianos said, halting the train wreck inside Laurent’s head — which, good call. “I don’t want to talk about Jo right now. How are you? Michael said you were feeling unwell.”</p><p>“Um.” Was there a medical condition that could describe the way his heart had cracked last night? Laurent didn’t think so. He said, “I was feeling gassy,” and then immediately winced.</p><p>“Gas from <em>Gas</em>?” Damianos said, looking amused.</p><p>“Hmm,” Laurent said, pressing his lips together.</p><p>There was an unexpected silence.</p><p>Damianos peered at him suspiciously. “Are you really okay?”</p><p>Laurent was always pretty much okay. Today he was less so. But he still said, “Yes.”</p><p>Damianos stared at him for a beat. “Do you want to go for a ride?”</p><p>Laurent wanted to, desperately. But it was too soon. He didn’t think he could deal with it, just yet, even though he had told the Queen that he was going to forget about his crush.</p><p>“I — no, thank you.”</p><p>Damianos’ left eyebrow scrunched. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>God, this was intolerable. Why hadn’t he fallen for a mountain troll or a goat or a square patch of grass on the lawn?</p><p>When Laurent remained silent, Damianos suddenly looked angry. “Michael didn’t say anything to you, did he?”</p><p>Laurent <em>stared. </em></p><p>Was this the universe’s way of punishing him for wearing his great great grandmother’s blue silk dress to Aimeric’s house party? He hadn’t meant to rip it; Caleb had just been… very handsy.</p><p>Damianos seemed to take Laurent’s lack of response as a response in itself. He was practically vibrating in anger. He spat out: “God. That <em>asshole. </em>You know I told Jo not to invite him? He’s always so —”</p><p>“Michael didn’t do anything,” Laurent said in a rush, because he was starting to get very turned on. “I just. I don’t feel well. I think it was all the drinks at <em>Gas. </em>In fact, I know it was. I’m going to sue them. Right now. So — I’m just going to do that. Right now.”</p><p><em>Now </em>Damianos’ mouth scrunched. With a sincerity that made Laurent’s knees buckle, he said, “Laurent. I really hope you’re okay.”</p><p>Laurent nodded. “Thank you,” he said, and slipped past him to go inside his bedroom, where he could just close his eyes and… forget for a few hours.</p><p>*</p><p>Damianos brought him his favourite chocolate the next day in the Prince’s Courtyard. It was actually the one they had both liked from <em>Laurent</em><em>’s Sweets</em>, with espresso, hazelnut and flecks of gold.</p><p>Laurent stared at it, and then at Damianos, and said, “You’re making this very difficult.”</p><p>“What?” Damianos’ confusion was apparent all over his gorgeous face. He hadn’t shaved today: there was scruff over his jaw, his chin and Adam’s apple.</p><p>Laurent’s eyes tracked all over it, until he realised Damianos was staring at him curiously. “Uh,” Laurent said, looking away. “I’m trying to lose weight. So I can look good in my tuxedo tomorrow. If I just don’t eat for the next thirty hours, I’ll look amazing.”</p><p>“You’ll look amazing either way,” Damianos frowned. “Just eat the chocolate. Nothing bad will happen, I promise.”</p><p>Laurent pinched his thigh to keep from lunging at Damianos. He bit into the chocolate, and was rewarded for it handsomely: Damianos’ smiled, with teeth, and his dimple was a large, overbearing indent on his face.</p><p>Laurent’s next bite was a bit more vicious.</p><p>A few minutes later, as Damianos recounted a story about his cousin losing two fingers during <em>okton</em>, his phone rang.</p><p>Jo’s name flashed on the screen.</p><p>Laurent flicked at his knees while Damianos said, “Ah, shit. Hold on.” He got up, but didn’t leave the Courtyard: instead, he went to the balustrade, leaning against it, so that Laurent had an uninterrupted view of his ass.</p><p>“My god,” Laurent cast a glance up to the heavens. Then he pulled out his phone so he could distract himself with Candy Crush and not the King’s super duper amazing butt.</p><p>Damianos talked quietly into his phone for a while. Laurent had gone through three more levels when he heard, over the nearly silent wind, Damianos say, “I love you too.”</p><p>Laurent dropped his phone. He picked it up, barely caring about whether or not it had smashed, his heart pounding.</p><p>His eyes widened as he stared at Damianos’ back, the realisation sinking into his gut.</p><p>He didn’t have a crush on Damianos.</p><p>He was…</p><p>He couldn’t finish the thought. It was too terrifying.</p><p>Laurent stood up on shaky legs and walked off. He didn’t stop walking for a long, long time.</p><p>*</p><p>Later that night, in the quiet darkness of his bedroom, Lazar sucked his cock with his usual enthusiasm, his cold, lubed fingers circling Laurent’s rim.</p><p>Laurent stared at the ceiling, panting silently. It felt good — it always did. His body was reacting to it: his chest was flushed, his thighs were shaking and his hands gripped the silk sheets. It was his mind that was out of control: part of <em>why </em>Laurent was so aroused was because he couldn’t stop thinking of Damianos. Laurent had almost come thirty seconds in because he was so wound up.</p><p>Lazar continued going down on him, and Laurent’s skin felt like it was itchy, on fire.</p><p>Still staring at the ceiling, he said to Lazar, “Tell me you love me.”</p><p>He just wanted to hear someone say it to him. Just once.</p><p>Lazar pulled off his cock. There was a small, split second of silence. Laurent was glad he couldn’t make out his expression.</p><p>Lazar said, “I love you, Your Highness.”</p><p>Laurent’s toes curled.  His mind was blank. It didn’t feel right.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said, voice shaking.</p><p>Lazar waited a moment, then continued on.</p><p>After a while, Laurent squirmed, uncomfortable. “Maybe try: ‘I’m in love with you, Laurent.’”</p><p>Lazar pulled off again. He said, “I’m in love with you, Laurent.”</p><p>Laurent pushed him away. He sat up and crossed his legs, pressing the heels of his palm into his eye sockets until there was a burst of white behind his eyelids.</p><p>“… Your Highness? Is everything alright?”</p><p>“Yes,” Laurent said, not looking up. His voice was still shaking, and he didn’t know why. “You may go now, Lazar.”</p><p>“Oh,” Lazar said in surprise. “I — of course, Your Highness.” There was some shuffling, the rustling of clothes. “Sleep well, Your Highness.” He shut the door behind him, dutiful as always.</p><p>Laurent kept pressing into his eyelids, alone and cold in the dark, trying not to think, because it hurt too much.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Surprise.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WARNING: this chapter depicts a character having a panic attack and being gaslit.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Laurent had never been in this kind of situation before. If he ever wanted something, he just bought it. Or seduced someone to buy it for him.</p><p>The only thing Laurent hadn’t gotten was Al’s approval on… anything — or Al’s approval, full stop— and Laurent had tried very hard to buy that online. (Mostly he had just typed into Google <em>how to buy your dad</em><em>’s acceptance</em> and had been linked to a site called Daddy Issues 101, which was just a generic amateur porn site. The boring kind of porn, where like, ninety percent of the people in it didn’t know how to suck cock. What was the point of making a sex tape if one didn’t know how to suck cock properly? Laurent had almost fallen asleep watching it. It was like people just didn’t respect the delicate art of cock sucking and then the even <em>more </em>delicate art of filming it).</p><p>Anyway. The point was: Damianos’ love was not for sale. And if it was, it would not be on sale to Laurent. If there was an auction for it, it would be one of those situations where Laurent would consistently outbid everyone, until the very last second, when a mystery bidder would yell an amount twice as high as Laurent’s and everyone would turn their heads and Jokaste would walk in, with her stunning hair and breasts, and Damianos would smile that large, dopey smile and they would kiss, and Damianos’ hands would be all over Jokaste’s butt, which was also very stunning.</p><p>Oh no. Was Laurent into Jokaste too?</p><p>The thought immediately made him shudder.</p><p>Oh, thank god — he was still very gay.</p><p>In the morning, Laurent created another amazing plan — which might not have been the best thing to do since his first plan was going <em>so well</em>.</p><p>But, either way, the plan was simple: due to recent developments, Laurent decided the mature, responsible, <em>adult</em> thing to do was to ignore Damianos.</p><p>Surprisingly, it was a lot harder to do than he initially thought. Laurent hadn’t realised it, but over the last few days, he and Damianos had spent a lot of time together. In fact, Damianos was always just… there nowadays. The only part of the day they weren’t together was breakfast, where Laurent was tortured with Al’s presence.</p><p>Now that he was thinking about it, they didn’t spend the night together, either. Not that Laurent wanted to spend the night <em>with </em>Damianos — he still hated cheating, even if it meant Damianos reciprocated his feelings — but maybe they could just… lie together in bed, fully clothed, looking into each other’s eyes as they shared their deepest secrets. Except being vulnerable like that immediately set Laurent on edge, so maybe they could just lie there in comfortable silence.</p><p>Laurent also had to make sure that Damianos didn’t wait outside his room any more. He supposed he could have just sent a memo to him via Jord or Lazar, but Laurent wanted to be thorough, so he called the Palace pest control and said, “I think I saw a rat or a cockroach or a mouse or a centipede or a parrot or a shark run across the hallway outside my room. Come and kill it immediately.”</p><p>“A — A shark, Your Highness? They don’t run. And I don’t think they would be outside of your bedroom.”</p><p>“Oh, <em>I</em><em>’m sorry</em>,” Laurent said, “I didn’t realise I was talking to David Attenborough. Just get down here <em>right now</em>.”</p><p>“Of course, Your Highness. And uh — this isn’t David Attenborough. It’s Tristan. From, uh, pest control? I gave you a —” Tristan’s voice lowered, “rim job outside the —”</p><p>“Oh my god Tristan, I <em>obviously </em>know who you are, you idiot! Hurry up!” Laurent snapped and hung up.</p><p>The pest control team spent nearly the whole morning in the west wing in frightening hazmat suits, spraying everything they could with a surprisingly pleasant smelling pesticide. Tristan had even come down wearing a name tag that read <em>Tristan (NOT David Attenborough) </em>like the dunce he was.</p><p>Laurent rolled his eyes when he saw it and suddenly remembered why he had ordered Tristan never to speak whenever they hooked up.</p><p>His plan worked though: the west wing was shut down, and Laurent saw, from where he was hiding behind a draped curtain, Damianos’ head of full, bouncy curls being turned away for his safety.</p><p>After that, Laurent became very adept at avoiding Damianos. Sometimes — alright, fine, <em>most </em>of the time — he just had to strategically duck out of the way and hide behind a curtain, or a bookshelf, or even, once, Ambassador Radel, who then spent the next fifteen minutes showing him photos of his granddaughter, who was the sort of unremarkable baby who would no doubt grow up to be a circus performer, or something equally as boring.</p><p>Every time, Damianos would <em>frown</em>, his whole face twisting, as he surveyed the spot Laurent had once just preoccupied.</p><p>Laurent became depressingly good at avoiding Damianos, and somehow, two days and four hours had passed since he had spoken to him.</p><p>Laurent occupied this sudden vacant part of his life by following Auguste around, who seemed bemused by it, like he thought he should be bothered, but couldn’t find a good reason to be.</p><p>“I feel like we’re kids again,” Auguste mused in the King’s Courtyard. “Remember how much you used to cry whenever I had to go to school?”</p><p>“Hmm,” Laurent said. “I remember putting stink bombs in your bag once.”</p><p>Auguste threw his head back and laughed. “Yes, that was very funny,” he said, even though, at the time, he hadn’t thought of it as funny. Al had been furious, obviously, but for the wrong reasons: he had been mad at Laurent for using the stink bombs, but not at Aimeric, who had supplied them.</p><p>The next morning, Laurent pretended to get a call when he saw Damianos — strong, tall, handsome Damianos — approach him before the Council meeting with the foreign delegates.</p><p>“No, I’m sorry Mr Spielberg, but I am absolutely not interested in starring in your next film,” he said loudly, ducking behind a suit of armour with bated breath. He waited for a few minutes, but it didn’t seem Damianos had followed him.</p><p>He peeked his head a few centimetres. Damianos was talking to the Kyros of Delpha with a small frown.</p><p>“You’re going to be in a movie, Your Highness?” Jord said.</p><p>“Ugh, not now.” Laurent said with an eye roll. “Shut up.”</p><p>“Will do, Your Highness.”</p><p>“I think you should play the villian,” Lazar said. “The villains are always hot.”</p><p>Laurent frowned. “What? If I was ever in a movie, I’d <em>obviously </em>be the protagonist! Or the love interest who’s much more interesting than their counterpart. Or the producer or the director or —” He stopped himself. “Shut up,” he said to Lazar this time.</p><p>Lazar nodded. “Absolutely, Your Highness.”</p><p>At three days and eight hours, Damianos cornered him in the stables.</p><p>Laurent, who had been about to go on a ride, saw him and froze. He wondered if he should run away, but then that would require actual running.</p><p>Damianos did not waste any time.</p><p>“Are you mad at me? Did I do something?”</p><p>“I —” Laurent stopped. “No?”</p><p>Damianos <em>frowned</em> again, which was different to normal frowning, since this kind of frown seemed to be reserved for Laurent only.</p><p>“Laurent…” He said, a little formally. “If I have done something wrong, I would like the opportunity to rectify it.”</p><p>Laurent stared. His heart was beating too fast, suddenly overwhelmed by his feelings for Damianos.</p><p>No one had ever <em>cared </em>so much before.</p><p>So what if he had been avoiding Damianos? Why did it matter to him so much?</p><p>Laurent didn’t think he wanted to know the answer. No doubt it would involve the words: <em>because of our plan</em><em>…? </em>And Laurent would be left feeling humiliated all over again.</p><p>Damianos misinterpreted his silence and said, “Laurent, whatever it is, I’m <em>really </em>sorry.”</p><p>Laurent turned back to Shakespeare. His ears twitched under Laurent’s touch.</p><p>Laurent was suddenly very tired. He said, “What does Jo do?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“What is so terrible about her career that made the both of you feel like that… that <em>this </em>was necessary?”</p><p>Damianos paused for so long, Laurent had almost thought he had left. But then he said, in a quiet voice, “She’s… the state premier for Mellos.”</p><p>Laurent closed his eyes and laughed, a short huff of air that was barely audible. His body had gone tight. “She’s a <em>politician</em>? That’s <em>it</em>?”</p><p>“I —” The confusion in Damianos’ voice was apparent, even though Laurent couldn’t see him. “Well. You obviously know — there’s a very strict rule against royals dating anyone in the political sphere, and Jo is so high up, it’s — I mean.” Damianos cleared his throat. “It’s not ethical for me to date her, because the public might think her political views will influence my own policies and well — for good reason. It’s happened before. My grandfather — do you know him? Oh, well, you probably wouldn’t — but his mistress was a part of the Kyroi, and pretty much everything he implemented was beneficial to <em>her </em>and her Party, and not the public, or the country or the…”</p><p>Laurent closed his eyes in disbelief as he listened to Damianos’ uncharacteristic babbling.</p><p>All this time, he had thought… It felt shameful to admit it, but he had always secretly hoped Jo’s career was truly scandalous enough for all of Laurent’s own scandals to seem like nothing in comparison. He had hoped his rank as a Prince, even as a second son, would have been… <em>enough </em>to win Damianos over.</p><p>He let out a shaky laugh. “I suppose your Kyroi must think she’s Pope-like now, compared to me.”</p><p>“I — <em>no</em>.”</p><p>“No? Then this plan must not be working. That was the point of all this wasn’t it?”</p><p>The silence stretched on this time. Damianos finally had run out of things to say.</p><p>“Excuse me,” Laurent said, leading himself and Shakespeare out of the stables.</p><p>He didn’t get back until well into the night.</p><p>Al didn’t let him have dinner as punishment. The predictability of it felt good.</p><p>When he walked back into his room, covered in mud and exhausted, there were roses lining every inch of his room. His heart fluttered when he saw them; every bouquet was a different colour, a different shape, and the smell in the air was fragrant and sweet.</p><p>Going to his study desk, he pulled out some parchment and scribbled down a message for Damianos:</p><p>
  <em>Im not mad. You dont need to grovel.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thank you btw. Theyre lovely.</em>
</p><p>He hesitated, then wrote: <em>Like you.</em></p><p>Jord dutifully delivered it for him. He came back half an hour later with a piece of parchment different to the ones Laurent stocked. There was a single rose attached to it.</p><p>Damianos’ handwriting was terrible — and Laurent knew he was gone if something like that made him smile.</p><p><em>I know how this started. But I havent thought of you as</em> less<em> for a very, very long time. In fact, I dont think I ever have, to be honest. I hope you feel better soon.</em></p><p>
  <em>Let me know if theres anything I can do. </em>
</p><p>Laurent wasn’t going to feel better soon, but he loved Damianos’ note so much, he fell asleep clutching it. Unintentionally, of course.</p><p>*</p><p>Laurent’s heart was dead, so the next morning, for breakfast, which was in the Blue Dining Room — a small, <em>small </em>mercy — he wore an all black Dior outfit, complete with velvet elbow-length gloves and an onyx fascinator with a bow and veil.</p><p>Auguste looked up from his scrambled eggs and went pale. “Oh, god,” he said, alarmed. “Who is it? What happened? Shakespeare isn’t… <em>hurt </em>is he?”</p><p>Laurent would have been a touched by Auguste’s concern for his wonderful horse if, you know, his heart was still alive and all that good stuff.</p><p>“No,” Laurent sniffed. “I’m afraid the only thing hurt right now is my pride.”</p><p>“Oh,” Auguste said. “Cool.” Then he went back to his eggs.</p><p>Laurent glared at him, affronted.</p><p>As he sat down, his breakfast was placed in front of him. Laurent’s shoulders slumped in relief as he saw it: avocado toast and spicy sausage. It was actually one of Laurent’s favourite breakfasts, and would have put him in an amazing mood, if it were any other day.</p><p>Now, he just moodily pushed around his sausage on his plate, feeling queasy.</p><p>“For god’s sake, Laurent,” Al said, finally peering at him over his newspaper. “Take the bloody fascinator off.”</p><p>“I can’t,” Laurent said. “It’s pinned down.”</p><p>Al continued staring at him above <em>The Veretian</em> — today’s national headline: <em>BELOVED FENCING MASCOT </em><em>‘ROCKY THE DOG’ BITES ENTIRE TEAM, SPREADS RABIES </em>— which was incredibly fitting, somehow.</p><p>Laurent sighed and began unpinning the fascinator. Great, he thought. On top of… everything, he also had to deal with a bad hair day.</p><p>“Thank you,” Al said, turning back to the paper.</p><p>Laurent pushed away his sausage. He couldn’t even be pleased about Al’s extremely rare expression of thanks.</p><p>He really <em>was </em>depressed. Just thinking it made him more depressed.</p><p>After a while, Laurent said, “Can I please be excused from the Council meeting this afternoon? I have a… headache.”</p><p>“Here’s an idea,” Al said lightly: a bad sign. “Why don’t we all just abandon our post whenever something mildly inconveniences us? How about the next time I get a headache, I abdicate the throne? Hmm? Auguste, how would you like to rule Vere whenever my back starts acting up again?”</p><p>Auguste cast a quick glance to Laurent, then to Al, and nodded jerkily, although it was obvious the question had been rhetorical.</p><p>There was silence after that. Al started reading and Auguste forked more eggs into his mouth.</p><p>For the first time in his life, Laurent realised their family was nearly always silent. They never spoke to each other. It was probably why he talked so much: there was simply no one to talk <em>to — </em>and Laurent needed someway to dispel all the thoughts in his head.</p><p>He also realised for the first time that Damianos was right.</p><p>Al <em>was </em>an asshole.</p><p>His chest was burning, from hurt and from hate. He was shocked to think it, but in this moment he <em>hated </em>Al. Laurent had never felt like this about his father, even at times when Al had been particularly offensive.</p><p><em>The King is</em> <em>… he’s not a good father.</em></p><p><em>I don</em><em>’t want you to think </em> <em>that</em> <em> the way your father treats you is normal, or right — because it isn</em> <em>’t.</em></p><p>Laurent put down to his fork. “Why do you always have to talk to me like that?” He didn’t recognise his own voice: hard and biting. It was like a stranger was speaking for him.</p><p>“<em>Excuse me?</em>” Al looked up sharply.</p><p>Auguste said, “Laurent,” in a quiet voice, but Laurent wasn’t sure if he meant it as a warning or as reprimand.</p><p>Laurent’s chest felt like it was on fire, and his stomach was twisting so much that his throat was clogging up, making the words difficult to get out. He still managed to say: “Why couldn’t you just say ‘No, Laurent, you still have to attend the meeting because it’s important but if you’re feeling unwell, take an aspirin?’ Why do you always have to be so…” He struggled to finish his sentence, “…<em>vicious</em>?”</p><p>Auguste’s mouth dropped open. Al’s, meanwhile, had completely closed up, shrivelling up. Laurent didn’t remember if that was a bad sign or a terrible one.</p><p>Finally, in an equally hard voice Al said, “I apologise, Laurent. I didn’t realise that I needed to shower you with compliments every time we spoke.”</p><p>“See!” Laurent said, looking at Auguste desperately. “You’re twisting my words. I didn’t ask you to compliment me, I just — I want you to be <em>nice </em>sometimes. Like you are with Auguste!”</p><p>Auguste closed his eyes, like he was mortified by Laurent’s words.</p><p>Al said, “Be quiet, Laurent.”</p><p>“And then every time I try to say <em>anything, </em>you tell me to shut up or you uninvite me to an engagement so you don’t have to deal with me. I just want to know <em>why.</em>” He looked pleadingly at Al. “What’s so wrong about me?”</p><p>“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Auguste said, looking shocked. “But sometimes your behaviour is —”</p><p>“Deplorable. Disgusting. Despicable. Intolerable. Abnormal.” Al said. “Those are just a few. Take your pick, Laurent.”</p><p>Laurent could feel his chin wobbling. “I —”</p><p>“Father,” said Auguste.</p><p>Al sneered at Laurent. “The problem with you, Laurent, is that you demand respect, when <em>every single thing</em> about you is undeserving of it.”</p><p>Laurent swayed in his seat, as though he had been struck.</p><p>“Father, that’s <em>enough</em>,” Auguste said, so sharply, it scared Laurent.</p><p>He stood up too fast: he felt dizzy, and his chair toppled backwards. He was going to have a heart attack, except that didn’t make sense because he didn’t have a heart, not any more, and oh god, he was going to die, wasn’t he? He was really dying: he could feel everything in his body shutting down, going clammy and cold.</p><p>Laurent ran as best he could on uncontrollable legs. Behind him, he could hear Auguste say, “Laurent <em>wait</em>!” And then, unbelievingly, he said in disgust, “You’ve gone too far, Father.”</p><p>Laurent couldn’t hear any more; he ran unseeingly down a deserted hallway. He crouched behind  huge potted plant, pressed his knees to his chest and began rocking, gasping and shuddering as his lungs continued to seize up. It wasn’t quite a big panic — Laurent hadn’t had one of those since Luca — and <em>god </em>just thinking of that rat faced turd made Laurent choke up even more.</p><p>He didn’t know how long he was there, gasping heavily into his kneecaps, but the concerned call of: “Your Highness? Laurent!” was destabilising.</p><p>Someone was crouching down in front of him, face creased in concern.</p><p>Herode’s face swam before Laurent’s eyes, blurry and fading.</p><p>“Laurent,” Herode said in a firm voice that was still full of gentleness. “I need you to listen to me. Take a breath for me, okay?”</p><p>Laurent did, even though it was a broken, shuddering one.</p><p>“Alright, good,” said Herode, still in that gentle, polite tone. “Now let’s keep going.”</p><p>Herode stayed by Laurent as he talked him through his breathing, until Laurent still felt shaky, but not clammy.</p><p>Herode gave him a small smile, even though his eyes were brimming with worry. “Can you stand up, Your Highness?”</p><p>Laurent thought about it. It took him a long time, since his head was still swimming, like it was desperately trying to wade through deep water.</p><p>He finally croaked out a: “Yes.”</p><p>Herode didn’t leave his side as Laurent slowly, painfully stood up. Everything around him was fading around the edges, the portraits lining the wall blending in with each other, the carpet’s bright red colour overpowering.</p><p>He didn’t know how, but somehow Herode had led him to one of the Guest Chambers that had been left unused during this trip. Herode didn’t touch Laurent, but he ushered him, like a sheep, towards the bed.</p><p>Laurent collapsed onto it, face pressed to the pillow.</p><p>Again, it was like he had blinked and then Herode was urging him to drink water, which Laurent did, gladly.</p><p>After a long, long moment, Laurent finally came back to himself, slowly, in small increments.</p><p>“Thank you,” said Laurent quietly, unable to meet Herode’s eyes, who was sitting in a puffy red armchair across from the bed. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Councillor.” It was a horrible sentence: formal and tight, so unlike the way Laurent usually spoke to Herode.</p><p>Herode seemed to think so too: he frowned a little, but otherwise didn’t bodily react. In a placating tone, he said, “It’s okay, Your Highness. Are you alright?”</p><p>“Yes,” Laurent said, even though he felt mostly numb. A terrible sign.</p><p>“Do you want to talk about what is troubling you, Your Highness?” Herode said, after he had watched Laurent drink his second glass of water in silence. “I can try to help.”</p><p>Laurent looked at him, then down at the silk bed sheets he was lying on. “Why are you so loyal to me, Herode?”<br/>
Herode seemed surprised by the question. But he smiled as he said, “I think you’re a wonderful man, Your Highness. You are brave and kind and incredibly intelligent. You’ve shown that to all of us multiple times.”</p><p>Laurent closed his eyes. “I think you’re the only person who thinks that.”</p><p>“No, I’m not,” Herode said instantly. “You have many, many supporters, Laurent. Here, in the Palace, and outside of it.”</p><p>“Do you still stand by those things you said about me even though I’m —” What had Al said again? Actually, no: it was painful to think about. He started again: “Even though I do the things I do? Get into scandals? Date terrible men?”</p><p>“I think…” Herode began, then continued after a small pause, “that more than anything, you love Vere, and if you knew — if you truly knew — that what you were doing hurt the country you have promised to protect, then you would stop in an instant.”</p><p>Laurent started crying.</p><p>It was, surprisingly, a quiet kind of crying, where tears just kept escaping in a never ending flow. As he cried, Herode said, “Your Highness, may I —”</p><p>Laurent nodded. He didn’t know what Herode was asking, but he trusted him.</p><p>Herode stood up to sit next to him on the bed and placed an arm around him, holding him close. Laurent didn’t remember the last time he had let someone touch him platonically. Excluding Auguste, Laurent didn’t think he had hugged someone in… years.</p><p>The thought made him cry more.</p><p>He wished he was anyone besides himself.</p><p>Wiping his face, even though it was to no avail, since the tears didn’t seem to want to stop, Laurent said, “I don’t know what I’m doing any more.”</p><p>Herode said, “You’re young, Laurent. You’ll figure everything out eventually.”</p><p>“No, I —” Laurent shook his head. “I’m in love with Damianos.”</p><p>Saying it out loud was just as damning as realising it in his head and heart.</p><p>Herode squeezed his arm soothingly. “I know, Your Highness. The love you have for each other is admirable.”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Laurent wailed, the word strangled, threatening to strangle him. “<em>I </em>love him, but he. He loves someone else.”</p><p>“What?” Herode pulled back to look at him, shocked. “The King is cheating on you?!”</p><p>Laurent shook his head again, completely miserable. </p><p>Then… the words just came out. It felt like he couldn’t physically keep it to himself any more.</p><p>He began to tell Herode everything — how he was unable to tell Al to stop with the unwanted proposals, how pretending to date Damianos gave him a freedom he had craved for years, how happy Damianos made him, how much he <em>loved </em>Damianos…</p><p>Herode listened patiently, mouth pursed, occasionally rubbing Laurent’s back if he got too choked up.</p><p>When he finished, Herode said, “That <em>is </em>a tricky situation.”</p><p>For some reason, it made Laurent laugh: a short, hiccuping sound. “Yes, it is. God, I’m a mess.”</p><p>“No, you’re not,” Herode said with such ferocity it immediately warmed Laurent.</p><p>Laurent looked up at him. “Do you think he could ever love me back?” He wanted to say: <em>someone like me? </em></p><p>There was a long pause. Finally, Herode said, “The King may not love you in the way you want, Laurent, but it is immensely clear to <em>everyone </em>that he cares about you, deeply. It’s obvious he really admires you.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Laurent said in a whisper, looking back down at his palms, folded neatly in his lap. “He’s… kind.”</p><p>“Kind, and a good judge of character.”</p><p>Laurent closed his eyes again. “Thank you,” he managed.</p><p>Herode said, “I know it doesn’t feel like it now, Your Highness, but everything will work out in the end. You’ll see.”</p><p>Laurent nodded, exhausted. He didn’t have the heart to tell Herode that that particular sentiment never seemed to work in his favour.</p><p>*</p><p>Laurent got his wish: Herode didn’t let him attend the Council meeting, even though it <em>was </em>an important one. It would also be the last meeting with the foreign delegates.</p><p>Perhaps Al had been right? Laurent thought. He couldn’t remember much of the fight at the moment; it was like his brain was blocking the memory, but Laurent was sure that Al was right in insisting he go to the meeting.</p><p>Laurent’s request to sit out had been a selfish one; just because he had to see the man he was in love with didn’t mean he should have dismissed all his duties. People thought he did that anyway.</p><p>Laurent’s chest twisted. Should he get up? Go see Al? Sit in the meeting?</p><p>He didn’t know which of those scenarios would make Al happy — and that was really all he wanted.</p><p>He decided to stay out of the way.</p><p>The Guest Chambers were less ornate than Laurent’s room — the architect had used white sapphire instead of actual diamonds, as though people <em>wouldn</em><em>’t </em>notice the difference — but the mattress was softer, comfier, and unlike Laurent’s bed, there were stacks of pillows and cushions he could reach for and snuggle up with.</p><p>It was how Auguste found him, hours later — he presumed, anyway; the lighting had stayed the same, but Laurent didn’t have his phone on him.</p><p>Auguste was sad. Laurent could see it scrawled over his face in heavy lines. It was a surprise to see him like that: Auguste was very good at hiding his emotions, controlling them, becoming unreadable. It was only ever Laurent who  lost control.</p><p>Auguste dismissed the red armchair and instead sat on the bed, inches from Laurent. He looked at Laurent for a while and said, “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yes,” said Laurent instantly, because he always was.</p><p>His brother’s hand hovered, like it wanted to touch. Laurent hesitated, then shuffled closer. He heard Auguste’s tiny sound of surprise, and then his hands carded through Laurent’s hair, pushing it off his forehead.</p><p>Laurent tolerated it for three more seconds then pulled back.</p><p>Auguste’s hand fell to his own lap, heavy. He said, “I’ve asked Father to apologise.”<br/>
Laurent nodded, because his throat was clogging up all over again.</p><p>“It was inexcusable, what he said this morning,” Auguste continued. “You were right: there was no reason to be combative over such a simple request.”</p><p>“He’s done worse,” Laurent said, thinking of Luca, and the hell that had followed afterwards.</p><p>Up until he had been gifted Shakespeare, Laurent had…</p><p>“Yes,” Auguste agreed. He was thinking of the same thing, Laurent could tell. “I think he has too.”</p><p>It was strange to openly acknowledge it. Laurent had only just realised that Al was an asshole this morning — but perhaps it was obvious to everyone else, like with Damianos and now Auguste.</p><p>Laurent said in a quiet voice, “Is he mad at me?”</p><p>Auguste looked at him. <em>Really </em>looked at him. Then he said: “Who the fuck cares?”</p><p>Laurent stared at him shock, eyes wide, jaw slack.</p><p>Auguste had the same fierce expression Damianos had had on the balcony. “He’s in the wrong, Laurent. What he feels right now is inconsequential. I’m concerned about <em>you.</em> Are <em>you </em>okay?”</p><p>Laurent hugged Auguste close.</p><p>It was a bit awkward, because they were seated next to each other, but Laurent clung to his shoulders, squeezing tight.</p><p>When he let go, Auguste was mirroring his shock, but was better at hiding it. Even though the hug had lasted barely five seconds, he still seemed shaken by it.</p><p>Swallowing, Auguste said, “I know it doesn’t seem like it all the time…” He swallowed again. “But I do really care about you, Laurent. I think I’ve been so caught up in my duties and pleasing Father that I sometimes forget… how young you really are.”</p><p>Laurent’s chest was full of an uncomfortable prickling sensation. There was some happiness there, too, at the thought of finally being recognised.</p><p>Auguste continued, “I also forget that I’m not <em>just </em>a Crown Prince, but your brother as well. Sometimes — the brother part should take precedence over all else.”<br/>
Laurent shook his head, overwhelmed.</p><p>He didn’t know what to say. He and Auguste didn’t do <em>this</em>: they never talked about their feelings, or how Al could be so… cruel, or how they used to be friends before Auguste gained more responsibility. If they got mad at each other, they bought gift baskets or horses or cars or ties or suits or diamond watches…</p><p>There was quiet for a while, but it was the nice, reflective kind of quiet. They were both befuddled, weighed, for the first time with the fact that they <em>had </em>drifted apart. Until today, Laurent hadn’t completely realised it.</p><p>There was still a long way to go.</p><p>Still some things Laurent expected from Auguste that he was sure to never get — a proper apology, a reassurance about their mother, about Al, as well.</p><p>For now, though, he let himself relax enough to rest his head on Auguste’s shoulder, which eased up instantly.</p><p>*</p><p>It was easier, after that, to get up.</p><p>Laurent went back to his room, took a long bath with his favourite bath bomb — a peach scented one that always left flecks of gold glitter on his skin — and dressed up in black again. That part was necessary. He didn’t pick up his fascinator, though.</p><p>With a foreign amount of determination, he stalked down the hallways, in the mood to see only one person.</p><p>Damianos was out on the lawn, smoking a cigar with some members of his Kyroi. The sun was setting behind the small group of men, washing their dark skin with an amazing orange and pink hue.</p><p>Someone — Al, he presumed — had even set up the speakers, so that slow, soft violin music could be heard throughout the lawn.</p><p>Everyone looked so relaxed, Laurent hesitated in interrupting, his new-found confidence shrivelling up. But as soon as he saw him, Damianos stood up, eyes wide. “Hey.”</p><p>The Kyroi scrambled up too, clearly knowing how inappropriate it would be to sit while the King and Prince were standing.</p><p>Laurent gave Damianos a tiny smile. “Hey. Can I talk to you?”</p><p>Damianos nodded eagerly. “Yeah, of course.” He turned back to his Kyroi and dismissed them in short Akielon.</p><p>The Kyros of Delpha took Damianos’ cigar from him, nodded in Laurent’s direction, and then they all left, walking in a line, like some sort of synchronised boy band.</p><p>Damianos smiled at him, but it was small, unsure, as though he didn’t know how Laurent would react.</p><p>“Let’s go for a walk,” Laurent said.</p><p>Damianos raised an eyebrow. “Are you calling me fat?”</p><p>Laurent grimaced. “No. God. Is that what I really sound like?”</p><p>“No!” Damianos said quickly, voice rising. “Sorry. I was just trying to make a joke.”</p><p>“Oh,” Laurent said, then thought about it. “It was really funny.”</p><p>“Thank you,” said Damianos. “Your approval means a lot. I’m now going to fulfil my life long dream of becoming a jester.”</p><p>“Are you making fun of me?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Laurent waited.</p><p>Damianos did not disappoint. Smiling so wide his eyes bunched up, he said, “Laurent, I really, really, <em>really </em>like you. And your eyes.”</p><p>“…That’s a lot of <em>reallys</em>,” Laurent said faintly after a few seconds of silence.</p><p>“I believe in being thorough,” Damianos said earnestly.</p><p>Laurent genuinely wished he had fallen for a patch of grass on the lawn. It <em>was</em> looking particularly green this year. That was pretty sexy. And hot. Yum. So many… straight lines and green goodness. Who <em>wouldn</em><em>’t </em>want to bang grass? It was just <em>so </em>—</p><p>Oh, god, who was he kidding. When his heart chose something, it was very loyal. That was why he loved McDonald’s, despite their borderline unethical business practice.</p><p>They walked up to the lake. The sun didn’t set on this side of the lawn, but the sky had darkened to a crimson and purple that was very Instagram worthy. At least, Laurent thought so, since his only access to Instagram had been going on a live stream on Auguste’s account, and arguing about how cute polar bears were on a scale of one to ten with someone called titttttttttttties (yes, with twelve <em>t</em>s) while drunk.</p><p>Al had taken away Laurent’s phone for two months after he had read some articles on it (honestly, Laurent still held a grudge against <em>Buzzfeed</em> because of it). Laurent had to make all his dick appointments by having Jord and Lazar deliver lavender scented parchment to dashing men all over Vere like some sort of milkmaid from a Jane Austen novel.</p><p>Damianos did not stare at the wonderful view. His eyes were fixed on Laurent only.</p><p>It gave Laurent the courage to say, “I’m sorry for being weird the last few days."</p><p>Predictably, Damianos said, “That’s alright, Laurent. Are you feeling better now?”</p><p>There was no way Laurent could answer that question truthfully. Instead, he said, “You know you're the only person who’s ever been nice to me? Like, just truly nice. Selflessly nice.” He flushed pink under Damianos’ gaze. “I just want you to know I appreciate you <em>so</em> much.” He flushed harder. “That’s it.”</p><p>Damianos didn’t say anything for a while. All he did was <em>stare </em>at Laurent, eyes flicking all over Laurent’s face, searching.</p><p>Then he said, “Can you meet me by the driveway in half an hour?”</p><p>Laurent blinked. “What?”</p><p>Damianos smiled. “It’s not anything scary, I promise. You trust me, right?”</p><p>Laurent swallowed, “Yeah,” he said quietly.</p><p>Damianos’ smile softened. “Good. Half an hour, alright?”</p><p>Laurent nodded, unable to take his eyes off Damianos’ smile.</p><p>*</p><p>When they pulled up to <em>Laurent</em><em>’s Sweets, </em>almost an hour later, Laurent was a little underwhelmed. He instantly felt terrible for thinking it, but he had thought… The way Damianos had been acting, it had seemed like they were going somewhere exclusive.</p><p>But then he caught a whiff of decadent chocolate and he began drooling. He hoped to god that Odette had prepared those salted caramel truffles for him. He’d kiss her if she did. (Obviously, he wouldn’t: harassing employees was not something he condoned).</p><p>Damianos smiled at him as he stepped out of his car. He gestured for Laurent to go in first, which he did so, gladly.</p><p>Immediately, he knew something was not right. Or — he trusted Damianos, so it wasn’t the fact that something wasn’t <em>right, </em>but it was… different.</p><p>All the lights had been turned off, except for the one above the glass display, so everything was washed in soft, yellow lighting.</p><p>The tables had also been pushed together, forming one, long table, similar to the banquet tables in the Palace. On top of it, there was a line of nondescript white boxes, the kind Odette used to package her sweets. Laurent guessed there had to be at least fifteen of them.</p><p>Laurent looked at Damianos, questioning.</p><p>Damianos smiled at him. “Open one.”</p><p>Laurent stepped closer, heart racing. He didn’t know why. Perhaps Damianos had arranged for Odette to bake exclusive sweets — Vask had a chocolate that was an aphrodisiac. Perhaps this was it?</p><p>He opened the box and gaped.</p><p>There was a cake in it: a two tiered hazelnut and chocolate one; Odette’s speciality. That was not what surprised Laurent.</p><p>It was what was written <em>on </em>the cake. In bright, white frosting, it read: <em>Happy birthday Laurent!</em></p><p>Laurent’s head snapped up to Damianos.</p><p>Damianos stepped closer too. “Do you like it?”</p><p>“I —” Laurent had never felt like this. His skin was flashing hot. His heart was climbing out of his throat. “I don’t understand.”</p><p>Damianos gestured to the boxes. “I told you that you deserve to be celebrated. So, here are all the birthday cakes you’ve missed out on. All twenty of them. And an extra one, for your upcoming birthday.”</p><p>Laurent swallowed, shaking. He stared at Damianos, and then back at the cake. He went to the next box, which contained a rich, dark chocolate cheesecake. There was <em>Happy birthday Laurent! </em>written on it too.</p><p>Slowly, hands trembling, Laurent opened every box. Every flavour was different, pressed with different decorations, colours, but each one had the same three words.</p><p>Laurent had never seen it written out before.</p><p>With twenty-one cakes surrounding him, Laurent was completely overwhelmed.</p><p>He pressed his clenched fist to his throat, digging it in there to prevent from crying, from his heart escaping.</p><p>“You did this… for me?” he said after a while, and it was evident that his voice was thick with tears.</p><p>“Yes,” said Damianos, so sweetly, so surely, that Laurent had to close his eyes.</p><p>After a moment, Damianos said, “Do you want to cut one?”</p><p>Laurent nodded, though his brain was still trying to catch up.</p><p>He sat down in front of the first cake he had seen. Damianos went behind the glass display, and then came back with candles, a lighter and a knife.</p><p>Laurent watched in silence, confounded as Damianos meticulously pressed candles into the cake and then lit them one by one. He said, “Blow them out and make a wish.”</p><p>The heat of the flames washed Laurent’s face as he leaned in. The cake looked even more amazing like this.</p><p>Damianos began singing: “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Laurent…”</p><p>Laurent took a shuddering breath. He closed his eyes and blew, wishing for just one thing.</p><p>Damianos clapped and cheered far too loudly in the small space when he was done, and Laurent’s chest was full.</p><p>He stood up, and without thinking too much, he hugged Damianos.</p><p>Laurent felt Damianos’ surprise in the next breath he took. He wrapped his arms around Damianos’ waist, as Damianos wrapped his own arms around Laurent’s shoulders, his chin resting on top of Laurent’s head.</p><p>Underneath his cheek, Laurent could feel how steady and strong Damianos’ heartbeat was. He smelled like sandalwood, and something earthy, masculine and he was so <em>warm</em>, it lit Laurent on fire.</p><p>He closed his eyes, breathing in Damianos, and realised his face was wet.</p><p>Damianos didn’t seem to mind that Laurent was ruining his blazer. He only pulled Laurent closer, swaying them gently.</p><p>Laurent never wanted to let go. He had never felt so safe. He didn’t think he could, ever again. Especially in someone else’s arms.</p><p>“Thank you,” Laurent said, into Damianos’ chest. He wasn’t just talking about the cakes.</p><p>Damianos seemed to understand. “You’re very welcome, Laurent.”</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Brooch.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello!! im so sorry this story went on a long, unexpected hiatus. real life, as usual, got in the way. a lot of good stuff happened (i planned a wedding ahh!!! (not mine though lol)) and a lot of bad (anxiety, imposter syndrome) but i am pleased to say im back, baby!!!! weekly updates from now on!!<br/>thank you all so much for your patience -- it really means the world!!<br/>and im sorry im such a bum at replying to comments -- i seriously love every single one of you. no words are adequate enough.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Damianos’ knee pressed against Laurent’s under the table as he took a substantial bite of the strawberry glazed cake with mascarpone buttercream.</p><p>Laurent watched his tongue chase the last of the icing on the corner of his mouth, his own mouth coated with strawberry syrup.</p><p>Damianos didn’t move his knee. He said, “Alright, pros: perfect amount of sweetness; cons: we’ve had four strawberry cakes in a row, and I think it’s all I will be able to taste from now on and for the rest of my life.”</p><p>“It’s a good hill to die on,” Laurent said. He could only focus on Damianos’ knee. Besides the hug from earlier tonight, it was the longest form of physical contact he’d had since…Well. Since.</p><p>Damianos smiled at him. “You don’t have any more pros and cons? It feels like I’m the only one taking this ranking thing seriously.”</p><p>“It’s cake, Damianos. All cake should be ranked top tier. End of discussion.”</p><p>“Even carrot cake?”</p><p>Laurent didn’t even need to think about it. “Well, obviously not <em>carrot cake</em>. That belongs in the ‘foods that should never have been invented’ category.”</p><p>“Like raisin toast.”</p><p>“Like raisi — wait, no! Raisin toast is amazing!”</p><p>“Hmm,” said Damianos. “I’ve found your massive flaw.”</p><p>Laurent flushed, and turned back to his plate. “I have many flaws. Remember?”</p><p>Damianos’ face grew solemn. Flushing further, Laurent realised that, like usual, he had completely ruined a good thing.</p><p>He rushed on to say: “I think this cake is definitely better than the second one, but it’s not as good as the smores cake, but it’s <em>also</em> way tastier than the chocolate cherry one. So, I think this should go in at number seven? But oh wait — the pink champagne one was really dele —”</p><p>Damianos didn’t touch him, but his palm rested next to Laurent’s hand. Their pinkies were an ant’s length apart. The minuscule, black kind that always lingered near the sugar in the Tea Room, no matter how many times the staff cleaned it. Now that Laurent was thinking about it, he didn’t really see any other kind of ant. Except, once, during movie night, Aimeric had been bitten by a large, red insect. Laurent had thought it was a wasp or something, but maybe it has been an <em>ant. </em>A red ant. Red like Damianos’ insignia.</p><p>Damianos’ pinkie shifted closer. Now the length apart their hands was like… half an ant’s.</p><p>Laurent couldn’t look away from the small speck of space between them. Should he close the distance? Why wasn’t Damianos coming closer?</p><p>Damianos said, “I’m sorry I said that. I don’t think you’re flawed — not at all.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Laurent said, because it was. He gave Damianos a tight smile. “I know you were joking. It’s me — I. I’m not used to it. Joking around. Joshing. With the boys. Is that a thing? I think I heard it in a period piece.” Laurent pursed his mouth. “Um. Have I said thank you for the cakes? Because — thank you.”</p><p>Damianos’ smile was soft. “You have. Forty-seven times, to be exact. You’re welcome, by the way.”</p><p>“Ha. Forty-seven <em>thank yous</em> and forty-seven <em>you</em><em>’re welcomes. </em>Look at us… joshing. Being bros. All that good stuff.”</p><p>“I like you, Laurent,” Damianos said, tone so pleasant and warm that it made Laurent’s insides shrivel up. “That isn’t going to change any time soon.”</p><p>“Oh. Hmm. Ah. So.” Laurent cleared his throat. “Eep?”</p><p>Damianos was still smiling. Laurent hated it when he made that face. It made everything in his body — his guts, his lungs, his heart — all scrunch up like a ball of foil.</p><p>He felt a short, distinct pressure on his pinkie, and looked down in surprise to see Damianos and he were touching — knee to knee, pinkie to pinkie. It was amazing, everything about it igniting the nerves his body on fire.</p><p>His expression was misinterpreted.</p><p>Damianos pulled away.</p><p>“No!” Laurent said. Then he turned red in mortification.</p><p>But Damianos, like always, didn’t let him revel in his embarrassment. The pad of his finger pressed down on Laurent’s fingernail, then slowly down over the length of his finger.</p><p>Laurent shivered. Damianos stroked him again, from the base to the tip. Ha. Like a penis. Not that Laurent’s finger was anything like a penis — it was bigger, for one. His penis, not his finger. Laurent’s penis was larger than his finger. Obviously. And Damianos’ penis was larger than the Kingsmeet building in Ios. Probably. Most likely. Definitely. Right? There was little doubt about it. Maybe Damianos had become King because of his penis size. It seemed like a genuine scenario.</p><p>Oh god, how many times had Laurent thought of the word <em>penis</em> in the last thirty seconds? More than usual, at the very least.</p><p>As Laurent watched Damianos’ pinkie stroke his once more, he said, “I could have you executed for this, you know.”</p><p>Laurent meant for it to be a joke, but it sounded how he felt: breathless and twitchy. God. He liked it <em>so </em>much when Damianos touched him.</p><p>“Hmm,” said Damianos. He finally met Laurent’s eyes, his own dark, stormy in the lighting of <em>Laurent</em><em>’s Sweets</em>. “You could.”</p><p>Damianos’ fingernail dipped into the webbing of Laurent’s hand.</p><p>It felt too good, which was why Laurent had to pull away. Otherwise — otherwise Laurent would climb all over him, and rub his huge biceps and Damianos would push him off, that furrow appearing above his left eyebrow. And Jo would draft some sort of bill with her politically charged manicured fingers and ensure Laurent would not be allowed anywhere near the southern part of this continent.</p><p>Laurent cleared his throat noisily. “I want to try the passionfruit cake now.”</p><p>“Alright,” Damianos said, but there was a furrow above his left eyebrow.</p><p>*</p><p>The next morning, when Laurent opened his eyes, it was to three wonderful things: a small mark of chocolate that he had missed on the underside of his chin; the lingering scent of Damianos’ cologne on his jacket, which he was never going to wash now (not in a creepy way, but more in a I’m-in-love-with-a-foreign-King kind of way); and finally, a scribbled note on his pillowcase from said foreign King that read: <em>Sleep well, Laurent. I</em><em>’ll see you in the morning. </em></p><p>He felt hung over, but knew he wasn’t. This particular breathtaking dizziness could only be associated with Damianos, who had held him tight last night, who had eaten twenty-one slices of cake with him — (they both determined the white chocolate truffle cake with unsweetened buttercream had been the best one by far) — and who had walked Laurent back to his room, like they did in the movies, and had even come inside (the room, not Laurent).</p><p>They had spent almost the entirety of the rest of the night locked in Laurent’s room, drinking rich decaf coffee to balance out the sweetness coating their mouths and just… <em>talking</em>. If it were up to Laurent, Damianos wouldn’t have sat on the chaise lounge on the other side of the room as Laurent sat cross legged on the bed, but whatever. Beggars couldn’t be choosers and all that. Not that he would be a beggar in <em>any </em>circumstance. Gross.</p><p>But, now that Laurent was thinking about it, he supposed he wouldn’t have minded <em>where </em>Damianos sat, as long as Laurent got to snuggle on his lap, since the man had so much <em>thigh</em>. It was insane. Laurent had a running bet with himself that if he were to sit on Damianos’ lap, there would still be ample room — enough room for Laurent to do a few cartwheels — not that Laurent had the athletic ability to do a cartwheel. The point was: the man was just so <em>wide. </em></p><p>It was easily the most romantic thing Laurent had ever done with someone. And yes, he realised that that in itself was a tragic, loser-ish statement, but he was choosing not to see it that way. Like Britney Spears had said in that horribly shot perfume ad, he was choosing his own destiny. Fate, who? Laurent didn’t know her.</p><p>Either way, Laurent could have stayed like that forever. Sitting in his bed, letting Damianos’ deep voice wash over him as he had recounted the time he had been dared to eat five dozen boiled eggs in one sitting like Gaston.</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“Gaston. You know — from <em>Beauty and the Beast.</em>”</p><p>“<em>Beauty and the </em>what?”</p><p>“Beast. He’s the love interest. The prince.”</p><p>“I <em>refuse</em> to accept that kind of representation.”</p><p>That had made Damianos laugh for a long, long time, for whatever reason.</p><p>Unfortunately, Laurent’s body committed the ultimate betrayal, and it became harder and harder to keep his eyes open. He had had a pretty strenuous day — even by his own standards. The whole ‘wow maybe my father <em>is</em> a dick?’ revelation had been a genuine bummer.</p><p>Before he knew it, Laurent had laid down, head resting against the pillow, palm pressed to his cheek as he had listened to Damianos talk.</p><p>“I should go,” Damianos had said.</p><p>“No, stay,” Laurent said, even as his eyes had been closing.</p><p>“I’ll go.”</p><p>Laurent didn’t know what happened after that, because Damianos’ voice was so warm and soothing, he hadn’t opened his eyes again.</p><p>Now, here he was, clutching another (<em>another!</em>) note Damianos had left him in his terrible handwriting.</p><p>He went to sniff it, then realised how weird that would be. Then he realised that no one was here to watch him, so he did it anyway.</p><p>Disappointingly, it smelt like his usual honey scented parchment. Still, the fact that Damianos had chosen <em>this </em>particular parchment, and not his rose scented one, or his lavender scented one, or even the one that smelt like Turkish delight, meant something, right?</p><p>Maybe he was trying to say that he thought Laurent was as sweet as honey.</p><p>Or… probably not, since the honey scented parchment was the closest pile on Laurent’s desk.</p><p>That was when Laurent noticed the fourth thing. There was a enormous wicker basket packed and wrapped in cellophane. Already, Laurent could see that eighty percent of it was chocolate. The amazing kind, where each piece was wrapped in gold, printed foil.</p><p>Laurent shot out of bed in excitement. He wondered how Damianos could keep <em>doing </em>this, being so… so…<em>nice. </em>Laurent had never seen anything like it.</p><p>But his excitement was short lived: Laurent saw the card attached to the basket and dramatically deflated, like the peach pie that had been prepared for Al that one time. (Everyone had thought it had been poisoned, but the cook had just been too lazy to throw away expired milk and butter away so, in a way, it <em>had</em> been tainted. Laurent just wished Al had eaten it. It would have been funny to see him gag and splutter about. The viral kind of funny, where people would take a screenshot of the video and tag it something like ‘me eating ass for the first time’. Not that Laurent wanted pictures of Al and eating ass to <em>ever </em>be correlated together. It was just a suggestion).</p><p>The card had the starburst insignia on it. Printed in neat, small letters it read: <em>For Prince Laurent VI of Vere and Acquitart, from King Aleron IV of Vere and Kempt.</em></p><p>Laurent sighed, his stomach suddenly tightening.</p><p>Here it was, then. Their family’s way of apologising: lavish gifts with no actual apology.</p><p>He ran his finger over the glittery cellophane, thinking. It was a nice basket. It was filled with all of his favourite things: Laurent could even see the still-to-be-released book from his favourite author tucked away in there. There was even more scented parchment — the kind that was limited edition, exclusive.</p><p>It should have made Laurent happy.</p><p>In reality, his stomach just wouldn’t stop twisting.</p><p>He didn’t know what to do. It would be rude to not accept it, right? But… a much bigger part of Laurent didn’t want to. What Al had said had <em>hurt. Really </em>hurt. It had broken Laurent’s heart, in all honesty.</p><p>He didn’t think a few chocolates, paper and books would repair it.</p><p>Laurent decided to leave it unopened.</p><p>If Al brought it up, he would say he liked it. It wasn’t as though Al would know he was lying. He never had been good at reading Laurent, even during the part of Laurent’s life where he had had nothing to hide.</p><p>*</p><p>Damianos was waiting for him outside, though his cheeks were red and he was out of breath.</p><p>“What happened?” Laurent said, because aside from the day after meeting Jo, he hadn’t seen Damianos so dishevelled.</p><p>“Oh… nothing,” Damianos said. “I just had to run to make it in time to see you before you left your room.” He flushed deeper as he said it, and Laurent was mesmerised by all the colour.</p><p>“You… <em>ran</em>?”</p><p>“Yes. I mean. It’s not a big deal. I run all the time. Except I’m not usually wearing a waistcoat.”</p><p>Laurent was still reeling over the fact that Damianos had actually <em>run </em>to see him, as though they hadn’t spent a copious amount of together just a few short hours ago.</p><p>Laurent stared at Damianos, unabashed.</p><p>It was just… all so much.</p><p>Damianos cleared his throat. “Anyway. I was wondering if you wanted to have breakfast with me one last time?”</p><p>Ah.</p><p>Laurent’s heart made the same sound Pacman did when he died.</p><p>He had… not forgotten, exactly, but he had definitely pushed it out of his mind.</p><p>Today was the last day all the foreign delegates would be staying at the Palace. The Akielons, in particular — and by extension Damianos, who was Akielon. In fact he ruled over all of them. So. — would be leaving just after sun up tomorrow morning. The Patrans would be leaving after luncheon, but honestly who cared about them? The sooner Torveld and his nosiness left, the better.</p><p>Perhaps Laurent could convince Torveld and Damianos to swap flight times? Then Laurent would have more time to smuggle Damianos in his room and keep him there forever. (Again, not in a creepy serial killer way, but in a I’m-in-love-with-a-foreign-King kind of way).</p><p>Maybe — and the thought filled him with dread — he could ask Al to convince Damianos to stay. King to King. Surely Damianos wouldn’t disagree then?</p><p>He suddenly realised that too much time had passed since Damianos’ request. Laurent didn’t think Damianos would appreciate it if he said he had been briefly contemplating kidnapping him.</p><p>So he said, “Alright,” like it wasn’t a big deal. It was probably what a mature, well rounded individual would do.</p><p>Damianos beamed. “Excellent.”</p><p>Laurent swallowed down his heart, and tried to rearrange his face into a more neutral expression.</p><p>It was just as he had anticipated when he first started… all this.</p><p>He was so utterly, completely <em>fucked </em>— and not in the good way.</p><p>*</p><p>Later, while everyone was occupied with the afternoon engagement — which was just <em>another </em>boring art exhibition. Like seriously, who was coming up with these itineraries? And <em>why</em> was Al signing off on them? Laurent didn’t think he had ever seen Al appreciate art in his entire life. Unless maybe secretly admiring your dead wife’s portrait was considered appreciating art? Or maybe it was the actual person he missed? Actually, no, that was definitely it. Now that he was thinking about it, Laurent wondered if Al ever told the Queen about how much he disliked Laurent. The thought immediately made Laurent extremely uncomfortable, because he didn’t like the idea of her… not liking him. Oh god. He needed to stop. He was spiralling. — Laurent approached Herode, who was sipping pink champagne.</p><p>Herode was in his sparkliest tie yet. It was red, with huge chunks of glitter, and didn’t match a single thing on his outfit, and was probably a fashion crime in on itself, but Laurent actually kind of liked this one.</p><p>So far, he had only liked a total of three of Herode’s ties. (One of them had been a sequinned dinosaur tie with butterflies that Al had scrunched his nose at, so even though Laurent had hated it on sight, too, it had quickly become his favourite tie).</p><p>“Your Highness,” Herode greeted with a wide smile. “How are you?”</p><p>“Good. Disappointed with the lack of nudity in this place, but overall good.”</p><p>Herode nodded. “I think there were several nude pieces, but Veretian sensibilities…”<br/>“Suck,” Laurent finished for him and Herode grinned again.</p><p>They stood together in comfortable silence, staring at a painting of a cow being slaughtered which did nothing for Laurent except make him crave a Big Mac.</p><p>As the conversation flowed around them, Laurent said, “I want to tell him how I feel.”</p><p>Herode took a slow, deliberate sip of his champagne, eyes still on the cow. Carefully, he said, “Do you think that is a good idea, Your Highness?”</p><p>Laurent exhaled soundlessly. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I feel like… He really cares for me, I can tell. More than any other person has. And I don’t know. I just. I want him to know.”</p><p>Herode paused again. When he spoke, it was still in that same slow, sombre tone. “Your Highness… if you truly wish to tell the King about your feelings… then I am in no position to stop you. But,” he continued, when Laurent straightened. “Think for a moment about <em>why </em>you want to tell him. Is it because you are secretly hoping he will reciprocate those feelings, despite being committed to someone else?”</p><p>“What? No! I definitely, <em>totally </em>want him to be with Jo still! They’re going to birth the world’s first superhuman. Or like, some sort of alien able to outrun a giraffe. Are they fast? I feel like a giraffe would be really fast — because of the legs, obviously. You need to legs to be able to run. And giraffes… have those.” He went pink under Herode’s gaze, and knew it was streaking across the bridge of his nose too.</p><p>“Fine,” Laurent said, after a brief pause, looking at all the cow blood, which hadn’t still hadn’t stopped him from wanting the rest of Mcdonald’s menu. “I want him to… confess too.”</p><p>“Your Highness…”</p><p>“I <em>know </em>it isn’t fair to Damianos or Jo but… Shouldn’t Damianos have the option of choosing me? How can he have that if he doesn’t even know I’m available?”</p><p>“Your Highness…”</p><p>“And — this is all Jo’s fault anyway! Who just… lets their boyfriend date someone else, even if it’s just for pretend?! <em>Of course </em>I was going to fall for Damianos! Have you seen him? He’s… Tall” Laurent finished, flushing even more.</p><p>“Your Highness,” Herode said eventually. “I know you will do whatever is right, even when it is not the easiest thing to do.”</p><p>Laurent glared at him and turned away. Without another word, he walked over to another equally gruesome painting (a bear dancing with a bloody doll. The doll’s hair was so stringy, it reminded Laurent of fries. God. He really wanted McDonald’s) and thought <em>Stupid Herode. </em></p><p>He instantly regretted it. Feeling terribly guilty, Laurent whipped out his phone and decided to order him three more sparkly ties.</p><p>*</p><p>But the more Laurent thought about it, the more he wanted to confess. Damianos was leaving tomorrow morning: if he didn’t do it now, he would never have another chance. And he didn’t have the right shoes to run through the airport and stop the plane, so that wasn’t an option either.</p><p>The only problem was that the last formal engagement with the Akielons was a sombre, black tie event. It was the wrong kind of event for grand declarations of love. Except, Laurent’s declaration wasn’t going to be grand: it was going to be respectful, appropriate and… quiet, because he didn’t want to make Damianos uncomfortable in front of everyone. Not that Laurent’s confession would make Damianos uncomfortable, regardless. It was just going to be a nice, friendly chat where Laurent laid his heart completely bare so, no biggie. Laurent was completely prepared for it.</p><p>He had already done the essentials: he had conditioned his hair for thirty-three minutes and fourteen seconds, had exfoliated his body until it had pinked, and now he was meticulously rubbing the thick, mango scented cream that had been personally gifted and made for him by Charlotte Tilbury.</p><p>He was trying to think of what he could say. Laurent had never confessed to anyone before. People confessed all the time to <em>him, </em>but it usually happened when he was flat on his back, and the confessions always had some sort of sexual undertone. The Duke of Patras for instance, had said he had the most amazing eyes, and then he had finished the sentence with, “I love your eyes on me while I’m fucking your mouth.” It had been the first and only time the word <em>love </em>had been mentioned anywhere near Laurent’s vicinity. (Besides the Lazar incident).</p><p>Laurent hoped — wanted — hoped that he would hear it soon, sometime, in the future. It didn’t really matter who said it to him — Auguste, Jord, Jacob — but if he was just spitballing here, having a tall, foreign King saying it would be nice. If anybody <em>had</em> to say it to him, that is.</p><p>Laurent was so jittery, he had to pace around his room to calm his heart, his stomach threatening to hurl everything he had eaten in the last twenty years.</p><p>Oh god, no. He couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t do it. Not tonight, at least. He needed Al to convince Damianos to stay, preferably for ten more years, or something in that parameter, so Laurent could… do this.</p><p>His hands were still shaking, some time later, while he was just fourteen minutes into his forty-two minute hair brushing routine. They started shaking even more when he heard the sudden, steady knock on his door. Well, knocks. A long series of them. Only one person in this Palace knocked like that.</p><p>Al walked, everything about him — his back, his tie, his circlet — straight and immaculate.</p><p>Laurent immediately tensed. It just… His whole body went tight, immobile. The shaking had even stopped. Laurent couldn’t remember if he had ever reacted so physically to his father. He couldn’t remember if he had ever been so…</p><p>Well, terrified.</p><p>He blurted out: “I’m not late. There’s still an hour until the dinner.”</p><p>Al frowned, hands behind his back. “Yes, I know.” His tone was mild.</p><p>“Oh.” Laurent pressed his palms flat against his thighs, watching Al through the mirror. He tried to think of everything wrong he had done today: he hadn’t managed to finish the prawn roll at the exhibition (it had been his tenth one); oh god — he had eaten nine and a half prawn rolls at the exhibition; he hadn’t worn a circlet at all today; he had complimented Lady Alice’s new wig in front of everyone, which had apparently been a secret.</p><p>“How is everything then?” Al finally said, still in that terrible, mild voice.</p><p>“Everything?” Laurent said, mouth dry.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Laurent paused, confused. He knew Al didn’t like it when he paused between conversation, or when he had to repeat himself, but he was genuinely befuddled.</p><p>“Everything is… it’s fine?”</p><p>He tried to gauge Al’s reaction. Had he answered correctly?</p><p>Al nodded. Laurent’s hands remained still. Why wasn’t Al leaving?</p><p>Al said: “That’s good.”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“So, where is the…” Al’s eyes roamed around the room.</p><p>Shit. Laurent’s bedsheets were still rumpled from when he had rested on it after the exhibition, his curtains were still drawn, his laptop was left on the dressing table and not the desk.</p><p>“Did you finish it off?”</p><p>Did everything need to be a fucking riddle?</p><p>Laurent’s expression made Al frown.</p><p>“The gift basket,” Al said flatly.</p><p>“Oh.” The gift basket that was currently still wrapped and untouched in his closet. “Yes. I. It was — lovely. Very… extravagant.”</p><p>“Did you,” Al’s lips pressed together, as though he couldn’t let the words out, “see the manuscript from —”</p><p>“James Martin? Oh, yes. He’s — one of the best.”</p><p>“I’ve seen you read him before.” It sounded accusatory.</p><p>“I — yes. You know, he has such a boring name, but he really does write the most intriguing thrillers. In his last book, he didn’t reveal the killer until the last <em>word. </em>It was the mother, in case you were wondering. So he’s really progressive. Hashtag feminism and all that. It’s really…” He stopped.</p><p>“Well.” After a lengthy pause, Al turned back to the door.</p><p>“Wait!” This was his chance. He needed to ask Al — before he threw up nine and a half prawn rolls. Then realising he had commanded the King, he hastened to add: “Can I just. Ask you something, Your Majesty?”</p><p>“What is it, Laurent?”</p><p>In any other circumstance, his glare, his hostility, would have stopped Laurent. But he couldn’t stop himself. He said, “Do you think… is there any way to keep the Akielon party around for a few more days?”</p><p>“Is this about Damianos?”</p><p>The lie was alarmingly easy. “We’ve been apart for more than half our relationship. It would be… nice if he could stay. Just for a little longer.”</p><p>Al’s expression was intense and steady. It felt like he was trying to pierce Laurent through his eyes.</p><p>Curtly, Al said, “I’ve already asked Damianos to stay back — his draft on the foreign trade bill was exceptional, and I thought he could help us expand it further. But he declined my offer, said he was eager to get back to Ios. Apparently, he has something important waiting for him there.”</p><p>Laurent’s chest collapsed in on itself. He couldn’t breathe.</p><p>“Oh,” Laurent said quietly, and then, because he didn’t want Al to seem his upsetness (was that a word? His brain was losing oxygen; he couldn’t think): “He has a girl — dog. A female dog. So that’s what he probably meant by — by that.”</p><p>“You don’t need to specify the gender of his pet.”</p><p>“Ah. Yes. Good to know. Will keep that in mind.”</p><p>A pause. Not a long one: a small mercy.</p><p>Al said, “Laurent. About yesterday.”</p><p>Laurent didn’t think it was healthy for his body to keep shutting down like this. He nodded, because his mouth tongue had shrivelled up.</p><p>He wasn’t expecting an apology — it was not what their family did, after all — but it was still terrible to hear Al say, “If you do not wish for me to behave that way, then don’t provoke me.”</p><p>Laurent averted his eyes. He tried to remember the conversation from yesterday, whether he <em>had</em> provoked Al. It seemed like a Laurent thing to do, but something in his heart protested that thought. Either way, he couldn’t remember, so he just nodded, eager for Al to leave.</p><p>Laurent could tell Al was trying to catch his eyes. It made Laurent’s nape tingle.</p><p>Luckily, Al didn’t linger: a wonderful mercy.</p><p>When the door shut, Laurent’s heart finally resumed its task of pumping blood. He breathed in relief, then analysed his refection in the mirror. It was too late to continue his hair brushing routine. He couldn’t afford to be late — not tonight. Not when it <em>had </em>to be tonight.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>Laurent sighed. He would just have to make sure nobody stared too closely at his hair.</p><p>Love was hard, he thought. It required so much sacrifice.</p><p>*</p><p>The Grand Hall had been set up in a spectacular fashion; Al had clearly remembered the Akielon’s distaste for ostentatious display of wealth and gold and diamond. Instead, the Hall was lined with bouquets of pink, purple and blue hydrangeas. There were even small clusters of baby’s breath placed intricately around each table — which was the worst fucking name for flowers. Whoever had come up with name — and whoever had approved it — must have been seriously disturbed. Who looked at delicate, sweet flowers and said, “Oh, yes, this reminds me exactly of the air that resides in an infant’s mouth”?</p><p>Laurent didn’t know any babies, and he had never interacted with one, except for Nicaise, who had obviously been a hybrid demon creature, but he was sure that their breath would be terrible. They didn’t even have any teeth to brush!</p><p>He was so busy imagining a baby with a full set of adult teeth, he almost missed Damianos’ entrance, who was punctual and incredibly beautiful. Even though everyone was wearing a black tuxedo and bowtie — (not Laurent, obviously: his tuxedo was a classy, dark, floral print that drew attention to the paleness of his skin) — Damianos was so eye catching, it was breathtaking.</p><p>Damianos beamed when he saw him, which made the Kyros of Delpha frown. He crossed the room in powerful strides, and Laurent was aware that everyone was watching him — them.</p><p>“You look amazing,” he said, smiling in that devastating way.</p><p>“I know,” Laurent said. As if he would leave his room looking anything less.</p><p>Damianos smiled wider at that. When Laurent had made those kind of comments around David or Connor or Marcus or Stephen, he was always met with distasteful glares and “arrogance isn’t an attractive trait.”</p><p>Damianos noticed — it seemed like he always did— his sudden mood shift. “Are you okay?”</p><p>It was such an easy question to answer.</p><p>“Yes, of course,” Laurent said, and he almost managed a smile.</p><p>But Damianos still looked concerned. “Did the King —”</p><p>“I don’t want to talk about Al right now. Or ever. Ah!” He plucked a champagne flute from the tray a passing staff member was carrying. “I need you to stay beside me the entire night.”</p><p>“Oh. Uh. I have to serve —”</p><p>“Me.” Laurent raised an eyebrow at him.</p><p>“Oh, right, yes of course, Your Highness.”</p><p>Damianos’ concern was practically pulsing off of him as he watched Laurent down three flutes in a few short moments.</p><p>“Are you —”</p><p>“Can you meet me out on the balcony after dinner?”</p><p>“I —” Damianos blinked. “Yes. Sure. Of course.”</p><p>Laurent relaxed. “Thank you.”</p><p>Dinner was as uneventful as every other engagement had been. Al had chosen to display his wealth through other means: the food, which did things food shouldn’t do. The pork, for instance, had been served in a diamond crusted plate, which had emitted a pleasant smelling rose coloured smoke.</p><p>Laurent was sitting two seats down from the King and the Crown Prince — a mistake that Al had not seemed to particularly mind, although Auguste had protested. (Only a little bit though. They were in public, and apparently Auguste’s newly resurfaced brotherly love didn’t extend to defending Laurent so openly. Still, Laurent appreciated it. It had actually been quite nice).</p><p>It didn’t matter anyway. Laurent didn’t mind sitting next to Lord Basile, who spoke of nothing but his gay guinea pigs. It was very boring. Laurent had no love for ugly, hairy rodents, even ones that shared the same sexuality as him.</p><p>The dinner went on and on. Laurent understood why, of course: the major foreign party were leaving tomorrow morning, and it was clear that Al wanted to go out with a bang.</p><p>Except, a stifling dinner with aged Councillors was just the wrong kind of bang.</p><p>Laurent was bored and stressed. He couldn’t even finish his ratatouille! Obviously, he had eaten most of it, but not finishing it felt <em>horrific</em>.</p><p>He also couldn’t believe Al could be cruel enough to separate him from Damianos on their last night together.</p><p>Well, no. He could believe it.</p><p>As soon as the plates were cleared after their final course, Laurent stood up, excusing himself politely to the surrounding Councillors.</p><p>Al caught sight of him shuffling and narrowed his eyes. “Where are you going?” he hissed, in an effort to keep composed.</p><p>“Um.” Laurent pursed his lips. “I saw an owl on the balcony. I want to see if I can get it to deliver something for me like they do in <em>Harry Potter</em>.”</p><p>Al’s lips morphed into a flat line and Lord Basile sat up in excitement, eyes alight. “Ah, excellent observation skills, Your Highness! Do you mind if I join you? I have a slight — well, an abundant, what’s the use in hiding it, eh? — fascination with bird watching —”</p><p>“What? No. Ew. Stick to your weird, overgrown rats —”</p><p>“Laurent,” Al growled.</p><p>“Excuse me,” Damianos said, appearing over Laurent’s shoulder. Laurent could feel his heat. Damianos’ tone was flat, and he looked at Al with plain dislike. “But I need to borrow Laurent for a moment.”</p><p>It really was insulting how quickly Al bared his teeth for him. It shouldn’t have made Laurent jealous, not after everything, but it did.</p><p>“Of course, Damianos. Laurent, you’re excused.”</p><p>Laurent tipped his head shallowly and followed Damianos out onto the balcony.</p><p>The air was warm outside, and very still. It was terrible conditions for Laurent’s hair, which had already suffered enough today. Briefly, he wondered if he should take himself and Damianos back inside. They could talk behind a curtain. It would certainly add mystique — for Damianos, <em>and</em> the other guests.</p><p>“Do you mind if I smoke?” Damianos was already bringing out the lighter from his pockets.</p><p>“No,” said Laurent, even though he didn’t want Damianos to have yellow teeth.</p><p>The smoke billowed around Damianos’ face. “You know one thing I’m not going to miss about Arles is the fucking King.” He gave Laurent a small, tired smile. “I’m sorry you have to go through that all the fucking time.”</p><p>Laurent shook his head. “Al and I barely see each other on normal days so it’s. Fine. Also, I <em>really</em> don’t want to talk about Al.”</p><p>“Shit, sorry. You’re right — I won’t mention him again.” Damianos gave him another smile. “What did you want to talk about?”</p><p>Laurent blinked. Oh. Right. He hadn’t expected Damianos to get right to it. He thought they would have some more foreplay in their conversation. (Was that the right term? Maybe he really should hire a tutor; it seemed his Veretian was getting worse day by day). At the very least, he had expected more time. Maybe a few more hours, or days. Maybe a year. A year sounded like a good interval. Damianos could just hang out here in the meantime while Laurent gathered the courage to say words. Words which he was struggling to come up with now. God. Did Damianos have to <em>look </em>at him? It was terribly rude of him.</p><p>Laurent swallowed. “So. I know you’re leaving tomorrow.”</p><p>Damianos took a harsh drag. “Yeah, I can’t wait.”</p><p>He knew Al had said as much, but to see Damianos’ eagerness at the thought of leaving was so off-putting, it halted every thought in Laurent’s head.</p><p>“Shit, Laurent,” Damianos’s face fell. He stubbed out his cigarette, even though there was more than half of it left, and approached him. “I didn’t mean it like that at all. I’ve had an amazing time with you these last few days. It’s just. Shit. I really didn’t mean how that sounded.”</p><p>His guilt made it so much worse. It made Laurent feel like a child on the school playground, being fed reassurances by the teacher that <em>of course </em>he was liked, despite the fact that he spent every single lunch alone.</p><p>“I get it,” Laurent said, thinking of Al’s words: <em>something important. </em>“You miss Jo.”</p><p>Damianos’ smile softened around the edges. “Yeah.”</p><p>God. Laurent didn’t know what he had been thinking.</p><p>At the mention of Jo, everything about Damianos became less jagged; sweet and blinding. It was clear, in his face, how much he loved her.</p><p>Of course Damianos didn’t need to hear his bumbling confession when he had an intelligent, beautiful, accomplished woman back home.</p><p>The thought settled into his heart: <em>he</em><em>’s never going to choose you. </em></p><p>Nobody ever did. Damianos was no exception to that, no matter how much Laurent wished it wasn’t.</p><p>He didn’t — couldn’t — shutter his face in time.</p><p>It was just luck that Damianos misinterpreted it. “I’m still going to keep telling people that we’re dating so — you don’t have to worry about that.”</p><p>Laurent lifted his eyes. “Really?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Damianos’ dimple etched into his face. “Of course.”</p><p>Laurent smiled tightly, with great effort. “Thank you.” He paused, thinking. “Do you want to go riding with me tomorrow?”</p><p>“My flight is —”</p><p>“Before then. It’ll be quick, I promise.”</p><p>Damianos tipped his head, smiling. “Yes, I’d love that. It’ll be nice to be outside for a while before I spend half a day cramped on a plane.”</p><p>“Great,” Laurent said, nodding. He didn’t want to hear Damianos say anything else so he rushed on: “We should probably go inside. Dessert is going to be served soon.”</p><p>But Damianos stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. The touch didn’t linger. “Laurent, are you really okay?”</p><p>Laurent smiled. “Always.”</p><p>*</p><p>Laurent ended up not getting much sleep. He was too nervous to get any — which had stressed him because he knew how drawn and gaunt his face would be the next morning — except stressing about how drawn and gaunt his face would be the next morning made him more nervous, and the more nervous he got, the less plausible sleep became.</p><p>Laurent had spent most of the night drinking with Lord Basile in the Drawing Room, looking through photos of Roddy and Louis the gay guinea pigs. (Laurent had felt bad for calling them rats, which was why he had approached Lord Basile in the first place and had apologised, but there really was no denying how <em>ugly</em> those hairy pests were).</p><p>Now, it was so early, the sun hadn’t yet risen. The sky was still tinged in a dark navy blue. It reminded Laurent of one of his favourite Chanel jackets. He should have worn it today; instead, he was wearing red. For Damianos, who was already waiting in the stables, stroking Shakespeare’s mane.</p><p>Laurent loved him so much in that moment, he almost walked away.</p><p>He did something worse: he rushed forward and hugged Damianos.</p><p>It was terrible. Worse than terrible. A disaster. Worse than a disaster. Terrible.</p><p>Laurent didn’t know any more synonyms.</p><p>Damianos had had his back to him, so he immediately stiffened, then jumped. He tried to twist away.</p><p>Laurent pulled back, miserable and turning red.</p><p>“Oh, it’s you!” Damianos said, laughing when he turned around. “Fuck. For a moment I thought I was being attacked.”</p><p>“Oh my god,” Laurent muttered. “Please forget that even happened. I’m a bit loopy. I didn’t get my usual twelve hours and I’m —”</p><p>"Hey, it’s fine —”</p><p>“I also have nothing but vodka in my body and like, thirty useless facts about guinea pigs in my head so I’m more stupid than usual.”</p><p>A frown. “You’re not stupid.”</p><p>“I kind of am. Al says it all the time.” Laurent closed his eyes in mortification at the furious outrage that erupted on Damianos’ face. “Oh my god. Ignore me. Seriously. Let’s just start again.”</p><p>“Laurent —”</p><p>“Good morning! Are you ready for our ride?”</p><p>“… Yes.” Damianos sighed. He gave Laurent another searching look before he relaxed a little. “Good morning, Laurent.”</p><p>Laurent flushed, then turned to Shakespeare, who grunted in annoyance. It was clear he was not a morning horse, which made Laurent smile. They really were made for each other.</p><p>Laurent was quiet as they saddled up and began a gentle trot towards the river. It was finally hitting him that Damianos would not be here, in Arles, in just four hours. They couldn’t even have their usual intimate breakfasts, because Al had organised another (yes, <em>another! </em>The next time any foreign parties came to Arles, Laurent was organising <em>everything </em>so the royal family wouldn’t be left embarrassed) buffet style meal.</p><p>Damianos was quiet too, but Laurent didn’t fool himself into thinking it was because he was leaving. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his back was slouched: it was clear that he hadn’t slept much either. Maybe he had had phone sex with Jo last night?</p><p>Laurent cast his gaze up to the sky. Why did his brain feel the need to torture him constantly? Just because Laurent had fed it half his weight in alcohol didn’t mean it had to be so bloody <em>cruel. </em></p><p>They went farther than they had during Damianos’ entire trip — past the river, until they ended up near a crumbling cliff edge on the outskirts of the Palace grounds. As a child, and well into his teenage years, Al had always forbidden Laurent from riding up so far. Then Laurent became an adult, and Al stopped caring about where Laurent spent his time, as long as it didn’t make it to the papers and ruin the reputation of the royal family’s. Unfortunately, a lot of what Laurent did always seemed to make the papers, but that wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t help the fact that he was so beautiful and interesting. Once, someone had photographed him eating soup!</p><p>(That week had been wild: apparently there had been a nation wide shortage on mushroom soup, and the Prime Minister had arrived at the Palace, teary eyed as he’d begged Laurent to stop eating soup, because he had received over forty thousand emails complaining about the lack of soup in Vere. (The weirdest part of the entire saga had been the fact that Laurent hadn’t even been eating mushroom soup, because he wasn’t a <em>peasant</em>. It had obviously been a dried scallop soup)).</p><p>“We need to climb up here,” Laurent said, pointing up to the jagged rocks and harsh, dirt surface, where a rough, steep set of stairs had been carved out. “Do you think you can make it? Actually, no, what am I saying? Of course you can. I bet you could like, tap this cliff, and it would completely collapse.”</p><p>Damianos looked incredibly amused. “I’m not that strong.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Laurent said, doubtful. “Just. Be careful, either way.”</p><p>“Thank you, Your Highness,” Damianos said, with a grin that was almost… well, <em>roguish. </em></p><p>“Eep,” said Laurent.</p><p>Damianos laughed, swinging off his horse (Marilyn Monhorse) with ease.</p><p>Laurent went up first. He didn’t want to be behind Damianos, because Laurent had noticed how tight Damianos’ pants were tight around his thighs, and if Laurent only focused on his ass, he’d plummet to his death.</p><p>It wasn’t a particularly difficult climb, but something about being so viscerally aware of Damianos right behind him made Laurent’s throat close up.</p><p>His throat closed up even more when they finally reached the top. It never failed to amaze him how beautiful Arles was: here, on this small patch of dirt, it seemed like the entire country was stretched out between them. The jutting forts of Chastillon were visible here, the rolling fields of poppies, the small cities and suburbs, and finally, the thin strip of the sea Damianos would be flying over today.</p><p>“Wow,” said Damianos, voice oddly quiet.</p><p>“Yeah,” Laurent said in agreement. It felt like enough.</p><p>Damianos’ eyes were wide as they roamed over everything: the rich, tan colour of the ground beneath their boots, the immaculate view, the sky, which was steadily lightening, and then finally, Laurent.</p><p>Damianos looked at Laurent like he had never seen him before, and it dislodged some strange, foreign weight in Laurent’s chest.</p><p>Laurent had to look away. He couldn’t bear the intensity of those eyes; he wasn’t strong enough.</p><p>Instead, he walked over to the edge, sitting down (even if it meant ruining his Prada slacks) and swung his legs over.</p><p>After a moment, Damianos sat down next to him, warm, solid and completely unattainable.</p><p>He was going to say something. Laurent could tell. But Laurent had brought Damianos up here so <em>he </em>could do the talking, so he said softly, looking out to the sea, “I have something I need to tell you.”</p><p>There was a pause. Damianos seemed to finally acknowledge how tense the air was. He shifted a little and said, equally as soft, “Alright.”</p><p>Laurent swallowed down his heart. He could feel it beating under the paper-thin skin of his neck. “You need to close your eyes.”</p><p>It was heady how swiftly Damianos responded. Immediately, his eyes slipped shut, his body relaxed. It was such a humbling gesture. Damianos trusted <em>him</em>. It made Laurent mad with want.</p><p>He turned to Damianos, then, trying to take him in one last time. He was the most beautiful person Laurent had ever seen and Laurent was greedy for every part of him.</p><p>“Hold out your hands.”</p><p>Again, Damianos did it with such ease. His hands were wide and strong, and Laurent wished he could hold them, just once. He had always thought hand holding was one of the most intimate things, but he hadn’t really experienced it with anyone.</p><p>From his coat pocket, Laurent pulled out the navy velvet box and placed it in Damianos’ open palm.</p><p>“Open your eyes.”</p><p>Damianos did, and at first, he looked at Laurent, eyes piercing and dark. Then they fell on the box. His mouth dropped open.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Laurent said, and it was a miracle how easy his voice sounded. “It’s not a fake engagement ring or anything. I’m not tacky enough to propose somewhere with <em>dust.</em>”</p><p>“Laurent,” started Damianos, voice gravely, like he was choking up too.</p><p>“Don’t say anything until you see what it is.”</p><p>Damianos looked up again and exhaled heavily, his nostrils flaring. Carefully, he snapped open the lid.</p><p>Laurent’s breath caught.</p><p>Damianos eyes widened once again. His eyes snapped from the box to Laurent, face coloured in disbelief.</p><p>“Laurent. Is this —”</p><p>“It’s not the real thing,” Laurent said quickly. “We have a really talented Crown Jeweller — her name is Margaret, have you met her? Well, anyway. I obviously couldn’t give you the real thing, because it’s locked up in the archives, but she was so sweet, and she made me an exact duplicate. And she did it in less than a day! She’s incredible, really. It’s a shame you haven’t met her.”</p><p>Damianos was watching him with an intensity that was numbing. His head dropped, a small curl falling over his forehead, right above his eyebrows. His thumb came up to gently run over the tiny cuts of sapphire and diamond.</p><p>“Why, Laurent?”</p><p>Laurent said, “I’m breaking up with you.”</p><p>Damianos’ mouth dropped open. “<em>What</em>?”</p><p>It was incredible how he wore his emotions so openly. Laurent could see everything: the hurt, the outrage, the shock. He was so lovely.</p><p>“This is a break up gift,” Laurent began. “When you go back to Ios, I don’t want you… I don’t want you to be tied down because of me — because of a stupid plan I made up that only benefited me and my needs.”</p><p>Damianos closed his eyes in exasperation. “I’ve already told you that I don’t — I’m not <em>tied down by you</em>, that’s completely —” He said something sharp in Akielon that Laurent didn’t understand.</p><p>“Please,” Laurent said quietly. “Just let me finish.”.</p><p>Damianos was silent, but the set of his jaw was furious.</p><p>Laurent tried again. “When King Orion of Akielos gave this brooch to Crown Princess Armel of Vere, it symbolised his devotion for her. But more than that, it showed unity: the traditional Akielon lion, coloured in Veretian blue. They wanted to create a kingdom together, and they did, for hundreds of years. And even when that kingdom separated, it was done peacefully, with respect, to commemorate two individuals who had changed history.” He tapped the edge of the box. “I want this brooch to be a part of your story, now. King Orion fought hard for his love. He started and won wars because of it. He changed laws. He did everything he could to ensure he could spend forever with Princess Armel. When you go back to Ios… give yourself and Jo a proper chance.”</p><p>Damianos shifted again.</p><p>“Let the Kyros know about her. Let them see that she is capable enough to be your Queen. Let them see that your relationship won’t ever prevent you from fairly completing your duties.” Laurent inhaled sharply. “Don’t let me hold you back from that.”</p><p>Damianos looked back down at the brooch.</p><p>It truly was an exceptional duplicate, Laurent thought. He had spent the last few hours admiring it: a lion, standing tall, mouth open on a roar, covered in sapphires. It represented Akielos and Vere so beautifully.</p><p>“I can’t accept this,” Damianos said eventually, everything about him sombre. “I can’t… I can’t, not after everything I’ve seen and heard here.”</p><p>Laurent’s stomach clenched. “I don’t know what you mean.”</p><p>“I don’t want you to get <em>hurt</em>, Laurent,” Damianos said fiercely. “Jesus. You think I don’t know what the King is going to say or do the moment he hears about this? He’ll ruin your life.”</p><p>Laurent stared at him in surprise. “I’m not going to get hurt.”</p><p>Damianos shook his head. Just as gently, he closed the box. “I’m not accepting this, Laurent.”</p><p>“Stop it,” Laurent said, voice shaking. “If you really want to help me then — then you <em>need </em>to do this. For me. Please.”</p><p>
  <em>Please give me a chance to move on.</em>
</p><p>It was quiet for so long, Laurent almost thought Damianos hadn’t heard him.</p><p>There was a small click. The box had been opened again.</p><p>Damianos’ voice was raw, trembling when he said: “I need the truth. You need to promise me that if we do this then…” His voice broke. “Then you’ll truly be okay. That you won’t be hurt.”</p><p>Laurent smiled at him, as sweetly as he could. “I’ll be okay. I promise.” He said it in his best Princely tone: composed and clear. In reality, he had no idea what Al would do. He would be furious, no doubt. He would blame Laurent for letting such an important political match break off. He would ban Laurent from all engagements for the rest of the year or worse — he would take away all his cars. He would marry Laurent off to Torveld, and then never speak to him again. The uncertainty of it had his heart racing.</p><p>He cleared his throat. “I just wanted you to know…. Before you leave. I. I wanted to tell you — you’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met. I feel really lucky to have had you by my side during this trip. You —” Laurent flushed as he clawed the words out. “You make really happy, Damianos. And I haven’t been in a long, long time. So — thank you.”</p><p>Damianos’ face crumpled. “Jesus. Don’t act like this is a proper fucking goodbye. We’re still going to be friends.”</p><p>“We are?” This time, Laurent couldn’t hide his surprise, or his hope.</p><p>Damianos laughed: a short, crazed sound. “Of course! What’d you think — that’d I’d fly back to Ios and never thi —” His smile faded at whatever he saw scrawled on Laurent’s face. “Oh, Laurent,” he said with a small sigh. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes for even just a moment. I don’t think you’d ever doubt yourself if you could.”</p><p>Laurent tucked his hair behind his ears. For once, he could not think of a single thing to say.</p><p>“I’ll call you all the time, I swear,” Damianos said.</p><p>Laurent nodded. “And invite me to your wedding?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Laurent smiled.</p><p>Damianos smiled back, and it was just as dull as Laurent’s had been. “I’m really grateful you exist, you know. I’m going to miss you.”</p><p>It was too much. Laurent turned away, back to the comfort of a view that he had seen countless times.</p><p>Damianos turned too.</p><p>For a while, there was only the breeze, the distant sound of birdsong.</p><p>And then, he felt Damianos’ hand reach for his: calloused and warm, the length of his fingers linking with his hand.</p><p>Laurent closed his eyes and squeezed as hard as he could.</p><p>The sun was finally coming up.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The Aftermath.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello sorry this was a few days late... i really struggled with this chapter and it shows ://// (still managed to make it super long tho lol) </p>
<p>WARNING:<br/> this chapter contains<br/>- a character having a depressive episode that is not acknowledged/named<br/>- a character going to therapy<br/>- a character referring to therapy as something embarrassing, shameful, wrong, dirty, and something only crazy people do<br/>- a character not taking the steps to better themselves mentally (self sabotage)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After Damianos left, Laurent didn’t get up from his bed for eleven days.</p>
<p>He wasn’t planning on doing it, and it <em>was</em> quite dramatic, even for him, but it was like something in his brain had just shrivelled up and died. He just felt worn, like a ratty shoeless. It also seemed as though his heart had completely given up.</p>
<p>On the second day, his chambermaid stuck a finger under his nose.</p>
<p>“I’m alive, Nancy, Jesus,” he said, though it lacked his usual vigour. She flushed, apologised, and left.</p>
<p>On the third, Auguste came in. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go for a drive. I still haven’t been in your new Aston Martin.”</p>
<p>“Maybe later,” Laurent said, exhausted, even though he hadn’t moved all day. Or days.</p>
<p>“Let me at least take you to the baths. You stink.”</p>
<p>“I’m a prince,” Laurent said into his pillow, already drifting off. “Princes don’t stink.”</p>
<p>The next day, Lazar and Jord walked in.</p>
<p>“Your Highness, let’s go riding,” Jord said.</p>
<p>At the same time, Lazar said, “Your Highness, Marc Jacobs has just dropped a new colle —”</p>
<p>“Wait, I thought we were trying the riding thing,” Jord hissed.</p>
<p>“He always goes riding, you pillock,” Lazar hissed back. “We were supposed to entice him with something <em>exciting.</em>”</p>
<p>“Oh. Right.” Jord cleared his throat. “Your Highness, Marc Jacobs —”</p>
<p>“Not interested,” Laurent mumbled.</p>
<p>On the seventh day, Al came in without knocking for the first time in years. He said, “Hello, Laurent. What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>The genuine worry was so shocking, Laurent could not reply. He made a garbled sound in his throat.</p>
<p>“Is it your legs? Your back? Was it another riding accident?” Nothing was said with accusation, only that same concern.</p>
<p>“Who are you? Where’s Al?” Laurent said, although he didn’t know if the words actually came out.</p>
<p>On the eleventh, Paschal walked in. He was wearing a <em>beret. </em>A <em>striped </em>one. <em>Rainbow </em>stripes.</p>
<p>“Your Highness,” he said, settling himself at the foot of Laurent’s bed, so Laurent had no choice but to look at his horrible headgear. “I want you to start seeing a therapist immediately. They’re very <em>in</em>. One might even say… it’s <em>lit </em>to go to therapy.”</p>
<p>Laurent groaned. “Paschal. No one says <em>lit</em> any more.”</p>
<p>“What?! But I specifically learnt that word for this conversation!”</p>
<p>It inexplicably made Laurent emotional. More so, at least. But it wasn’t a bad emotion; it was similar to how he felt when a new Palace horse ate an apple out of his hand with no hesitation. “You learnt a whole new word just for me?”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Paschal said. “I also learnt swag and meme.” He seemed very proud.</p>
<p>“What’s your favourite meme?”</p>
<p>“The one with that terrified looking dog. He says ‘wow’ a lot.”</p>
<p>It took Laurent a long time to remember what Paschal was even referring to.</p>
<p>He groaned again. “Oh, Paschal. You’re so <em>old</em>.”</p>
<p>Paschal chuckled. “Yes, well. I’m certainly getting up there. Now, Your Highness. Can you get up for me?”</p>
<p>“No. I don’t know.” Laurent paused. “Maybe.”</p>
<p>“Well, let’s just try sitting up. Go on.”</p>
<p>Laurent suspected if he were anyone else, Paschal might have tried to help him. As it were, Laurent struggled with his jelly-like arm and legs by himself. He was sweating by the end of it, and it made him grimace, because his bedsheets had already been a bit damp.</p>
<p>When he was propped up against his pillows, cold and heavy, Paschal beamed at him. “That’s very good, Laurent.”</p>
<p>Laurent glowered. “You don’t need to patronise me.”</p>
<p>“I would never,” Paschal said, affronted. “I really am very proud of you.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Laurent said, quietly. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>Paschal gave him another warm smile, then dug into something on his left that Laurent hadn’t noticed: a large, medical bag. It was neon purple and had something scribbled on it in green marker. Paschal truly had terrible taste in most things. Laurent liked the green scribble though: it was clear Paschal’s son had done it, and Laurent felt warmed by that. Al would have probably thrown out his bag if Laurent ever drew on it as a child.</p>
<p>Paschal pulled on some blue, disposable gloves. “Is it alright if I conduct a few physical check ups? They’ll be quick, I promise; I know how you feel about contact.”</p>
<p>Laurent’s mouth was dry, cotton-y. Of course he trusted Paschal. He had been seeing him his whole life, it seemed. And he’d had physical check ups before. But Laurent was so detached from logicality right now, and he was upset, and vulnerable, and just…</p>
<p>“Can you wear another set of gloves, please?”</p>
<p>“Of course.” Paschal’s acquiescence was reassuring.</p>
<p>Even though he struggled to put on the second pair, Paschal didn’t complain. Then, he dutifully reached over and checked Laurent’s pupils, his pulse, his breathing, his forehead, his bloody ears for his some reason, until Laurent relaxed and let the physical examination continue.</p>
<p>He only came back to himself when Paschal knocked his right knee with a weird, rubber hammer.</p>
<p>“Well, I’ll still need to take your blood, urine —”</p>
<p>“Ugh, gross.”</p>
<p>“But, physically, you’re doing great, Laurent.” Paschal did that whole scientist-with-glasses move again, except he wasn’t even wearing his glasses. It really was an exceptional power move. Laurent would have to try it sometime. “I can see you’ve been eating broccoli.”</p>
<p>“Oh… yes.”</p>
<p>“Right.” Paschal gave him another serious look. “Now we need to start focusing on healing the inside. Yes?”</p>
<p>Laurent shrugged. “I guess I could do a juice cleanse. But like, for two days. Three, if there’s an important engagement coming up.”</p>
<p>Paschal sighed. “Laurent. I’ve already booked a session with one of the very best therapists in Ve —”</p>
<p>“Pashal, no! You’re a doctor! You should know all therapists are whack! They either sleep with their patients — or kill them! Sometimes they sleep with them, <em>then </em>murder — or maybe the other way around, if they’re especially freaky.”</p>
<p>“If Eric decides to murder you, Laurent, then I give you full permission to haunt me for the rest of my life.” Paschal started packing his bag. “And you’re allowed an unlimited amount of ‘I told you so’s’”.</p>
<p>“Unlimited? Really?”</p>
<p>Paschal handed him a small white card. “Your appointment’s next Monday, right after lunch.”</p>
<p>Laurent frowned. It was an unassuming thing, with a date and time stamped on it. The outer flap read: <em>Helping Hearts and Souls Centre</em>.</p>
<p>“Ew. Paschal, the <em>name</em>! I can’t go here!”</p>
<p>“Remember, Monday.” Paschal said at the door, completely ignoring him. “I’m going to call Eric and make sure you attend. Good luck, Your Highness.”<br/>Laurent sighed.</p>
<p>Then scrunched his nose. Good god, what was that <em>smell</em>? He leaned down, then sniffed his armpit.</p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>It was truly surprising how good washing himself felt.</p>
<p>It was also ritualistic to start up a bath: he used his favourite jasmine bath bomb, the one that had real jasmine petals pressed into it, as well as some sandalwood oil that Aimeric had gifted him as a cheering up present when Al had banned him from going to New York Fashion Week.</p>
<p>He even managed a shower afterwards, because he was just so relaxed.</p>
<p>Laurent’s phone had died in the early morning of day three, and he hadn’t bothered to charge it up. Now, it sprung to life with a flurry of loud <em>ding</em>s.</p>
<p>He had twenty two notifications — some booty calls, but mostly all from Damianos. He had called Laurent <em>ten </em>times! One of them was from around noon on the second day, which must have been just moments after Damianos had landed in Ios.</p>
<p>The last few notifications were texts.</p>
<p>
  <em>Hey sorry I kept blowiing up your phone I was trying to call you but youj werent pickig n up and I thought soomehting happened so I caLled your brother and he said you were sikck with flue so I hope youre better!!! Texy me when you can</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Also sorry it looks like im having a stroke I got a new ohoen and my fingers are too bif!!!!!</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Bye lol</em>
</p>
<p>Laurent bit his lip over a smile. He thought seeing anything to do with Damianos would trigger him, or make him spiral into sadness again. But, this only made him happy, if only in a bittersweet way. Even though he didn’t have Damianos, he still <em>had </em>Damianos.</p>
<p>He was still too tired to reply, so he quickly set a reminder on his phone — not that he was going to forget. As though he <em>could </em>forget.</p>
<p>Jord and Lazar both looked surprised and pleased to see him. In fact, they were so pleased, they led Laurent to the Blue Dining Room themselves, even though it was not a part of their usual duties. (Once Lazar had even volunteered to oversee the stable boys cleaning horse shit instead because, in his words: “I’d rather smell shit for the rest of my life then walk over five kilometres to the other side of Palace just to be attacked visually by enough blue to blind me.”)</p>
<p>Auguste shot up when he saw him enter. He stopped a few centimetres from Laurent, eyes wide, desperately searching Laurent’s face.</p>
<p>“Hello,” Laurent said awkwardly.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Auguste said, and he sounded suspiciously choked up. “How are you?”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Laurent said. “And you?”</p>
<p>Auguste laughed, and it was short, maniacal, and out of character. “Oh, yes, good, good. You — I’m glad you’re okay.”</p>
<p>Laurent smiled. He knew Auguste was dying to hug him, or at the very least, touch his shoulder. But Laurent couldn’t let him. Paschal’s gloved hands were enough for today, and besides, he had just taken a bath.</p>
<p>Auguste seemed to read Laurent’s mind. Disappointed, he backed away, but he continued to look at Laurent searchingly, even as he walked back to his seat.</p>
<p>At the head of the table, Al was also watching him with scrutiny. “You’re feeling better, then?” The question sounded like Al himself: rough, detached.</p>
<p>But something about his voice was off. Uncomfortably, Laurent thought of the apparition that had appeared in his room, concerned and gentle. It was strange to think of that Al and… this Al. Al in general.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Laurent said. “Thank you for asking.”</p>
<p>Al nodded, turning back to his food.</p>
<p>Auguste said, “Sit down. Eat as much you want, Laurent.”</p>
<p>Laurent ordered a chocolate chip waffle, despite his lack of hunger. Auguste, vibrating with tension was making him anxious.</p>
<p>There was silence as they all ate, but there was also an undeniable… heaviness in the air. Al and Auguste were clearly waiting on an explanation for the last ten days. And today, he supposed.</p>
<p>Laurent decided to give it to them. There was no point in waiting — someone was going to inform Al eventually, and people gossiped about Laurent all the time. He was just going to rip off the band-aid, or whatever the saying was — Laurent wasn’t a doctor, and his experiences with band-aids were minimal. Laurent would rather bleed to death than put that horrid, tan piece of plastic adhesive on his skin.</p>
<p>So he said, “Damianos and I broke up.” He cleared his throat as his voice broke. “We’re no longer… together.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Auguste blinked at him across the table, the grip on his knife slackening. “Oh,” he said again. “Is that all? I mean —” He flushed at the affronted glare Laurent gave him. “It’s just. When you were… unwell… we.” He cast a glance at Al, who had also stopped eating. “Well, we thought it was something serious.”</p>
<p>“I see,” Laurent said, so coldly, his throat closed up.</p>
<p>“No — that’s not. I didn’t mean it like that.”</p>
<p>“Hmm,” said Laurent.</p>
<p>“It’s just normally you…” Auguste shook his head. “You act like you don’t care when these kind of things happen.”</p>
<p>“Do I?” Laurent said with mild detachment. What did Auguste even know about any of his relationships? He wasn’t even home half the time. And Laurent had been plenty upset of past relationships: Bernard and Cormac came to mind immediately.</p>
<p>It was Al who didn’t like it when Laurent became emotional, so Laurent never bothered showing him… emotions.</p>
<p>There was a very long, awkward pause.</p>
<p>“All break ups suck,” Auguste said good naturedly after a while. “Especially when you’re the one being dumped. Don’t worry too much — you’ll be back on your feet in a few weeks, like usual.”</p>
<p>“I broke up with him,” Laurent said, staring very hard at his plate.</p>
<p>“Oh.” Auguste’s surprise was insulting. “Oh. Ah. Yes. Of course you did. Damianos was — well. He was terrible, right? His height was… Ah, of course. His nose! It was too long for his face.”</p>
<p>“I liked his nose,” Laurent said quietly.</p>
<p>There was another very long, awkward pause.</p>
<p>“Well, that is unfortunate,” Al said finally.</p>
<p>Laurent winced. He waited with bated breath for the final, fatal blow.</p>
<p>Perhaps Al would say, “Well, that is unfortunate. Fortunately, I have a backup plan: Torveld, please come in. Your marriage ceremony will start now.”</p>
<p>Al dabbed his face with a napkin. “Auguste, I expect you to attend the meeting at three. Laurent, Paschal has advised that you rest until Tuesday. Do whatever you need to ensure that. If you go riding, take a guard with you.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Father,” Auguste said dutifully.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Laurent choked out an, “I— ”, completely bewildered.</p>
<p>Al left, nodding towards Auguste.</p>
<p>Laurent whirled on his brother. “Why is Al being so weird?”</p>
<p>Auguste frowned. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“He’s —” Laurent struggled to find the word. “Not mad.”</p>
<p>“Well.” Auguste frowned again, like he was unsure what Laurent was asking. “He’s had a stressful week. He spent a majority worrying about you.”</p>
<p>Laurent laughed, then realised Auguste was not joking.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“What?” Auguste said.</p>
<p>“What do you mean he was worried <em>about me.</em> Al never worries about me.”</p>
<p>“Of course he does. Well. Sometimes. When you’re sick, especially. Like last week.”</p>
<p>Laurent tried to remember a time he was sick and where Al had <em>worried. </em>He could only think of that time he had fallen in front of Damianos, on the first day. Al hadn’t even come to the hospital.</p>
<p>Perhaps Al had been pretending to be worried so no one would realise how little he cared for Laurent. It was a pretty good tactic.</p>
<p>Laurent went back to his waffle. He managed two more nibbles before he realised Auguste was watching him.</p>
<p>“You’re really okay, right?” Auguste said, mouth tight.</p>
<p>“Oh — yes.” Laurent pursed his lips, realising for the first time, that something was off about Auguste — and it wasn’t just the moustache, which had grown bigger, almost overtaking his upper lip like a baby guinea pig. “Are <em>you</em>… really okay?”</p>
<p>“Ha! Yes. I’m fucking fantastic.” Auguste grimaced. “I know that sounded sarcastic. But I am, really. Fucking… fantastic.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Good.”</p>
<p>“Yes. Good.”</p>
<p>Laurent pressed his lips together.</p>
<p>Auguste pushed back his chair, clearly intent on leaving, even though his plate was still full. “I’d better go prepare for the meeting, then. See you.”</p>
<p>Laurent nodded. He could feel the exhaustion creeping back in into his body.</p>
<p>When Auguste left, it truly felt like he had returned to his old, pre-Damianos life again: he was alone, like always.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Over the weekend, Damianos’ unanswered text hung over Laurent’s head. He didn’t think it would be so hard to reply to Damianos. Every time he thought of doing it, it was like he was frozen. He wanted to say so much to Damianos, he knew he <em>couldn</em><em>’t</em> say too much to Damianos, and overall, there was an unbearable thought that rang through his mind the entire time: <em>I don</em><em>’t know how to be a good friend.</em></p>
<p>Another notable thing that happened over the weekend was that everyone — <em>everyone,</em> from the drivers, to the gardeners, to the chambermaids, had to sign non disclosure agreements regarding Laurent’s looming therapy session.</p>
<p>Even <em>Auguste </em>had to sign one, Al watching him with hard eyes over the dinner table as he had watched Auguste read over it. It had been a miserable meal.</p>
<p>Jord and Lazar both looked suitably offended when it had been presented to them.</p>
<p>“You’ve done way more entertaining things than go to <em>therapy</em>,” Lazar said with a scoff. “If I wanted to ruin your reputation, I would have told the press about the time you convinced yourself that bees were robots planted by the government.”</p>
<p>“Or the time you fell on the steps of <em>The Sun </em>so you tripped everyone else behind you and told them it was a long running Veretian tradition,” Jord said.</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah! And what about the time you peeled the label off all the To’ak chocolate and tried to resell it to all the Patran delegates as your own?”</p>
<p>“Or the time you told the Vaskian Prime Minister that the Patran Prime Minister was developing a secret telepathic device —”</p>
<p>“Yes, <em>thank you,</em>” Laurent said loudly. “I’m comforted to know you two have such excellent memories.”</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s excellent, alright,” Lazar said, smirking. “I also remember when you told Crown Prince T —”</p>
<p>Laurent shrugged off his jacket. “Are you two going to fuck me or what?”</p>
<p>Lazar shut up.</p>
<p>Afterwards, though, Laurent realised that in sending all those NDAs, Al had, inadvertently, told everyone that Laurent needed therapy.</p>
<p>Vannes gave him a pitying look when she passed him in the hallway, and Councillor Hector gave him a piece of chocolate with a pat on the air above Laurent’s head.</p>
<p>Lady Alice had given two thumbs up, then asked him if he would like to adopt a cat from her. Laurent would have said yes, but Al was allergic. (Although Laurent had suspected on multiple occasions that Al was not allergic, but simply afraid of them. Exhibit A: once, when Laurent had been covered with cat fur from an illegal cuddling session with Lord Mussa’s cats, Al didn’t even so much as sneez when Laurent had gone to his side. Exhibit B: he refused to go to Disneyland — <em>Disneyland</em>! — because of the stray cats, even though his guards had promised to hire extra manpower to be on lookout for them. Exhibit C: during a meeting at Lady Alice’s estate, he had jumped out of his seat, face pale, when one of her cats (a lovely ginger named Percy) had walked in the room. Percy hadn’t even been anywhere near Al, but Al had refused to continue until he had left. And finally, Exhibit D: Al had said that <em>The Lion King </em>was a bad movie. Seriously!).</p>
<p>Anyway, everyone’s reactions made Laurent… well.</p>
<p>At first, Laurent had objected to therapy because therapists were murderous sex demons, and because the name of the centre was so horrific it made Laurent want to gauge his eyes out, but now he was quickly realising that… going to therapy was <em>embarrassing. </em>It was a shameful thing to do, something only crazy people did. No wonder Al was so intent on covering it up. It made Laurent feel dirty, and wrong, for needing to go there.</p>
<p>By the time Monday came, Laurent had still not replied to Damianos <em>and </em>he was nervous, dreading what everyone was thinking of him as he left the Palace. (Auguste, in particular, had insisted on going with Laurent too, a slight crazed look in his eyes, but Al had been firmly against it).</p>
<p>The centre was actually quite nice: it was a tall, skyscraper building that looked more like an office building, and inside it was light, airy, with a lot of natural sunlight.</p>
<p>The receptionist didn’t even blink as Laurent signed in; she only directed Laurent to the fifty-ninth floor (Laurent was disappointed it wasn’t the sixty-ninth floor), where he sat down in an office that was filled with neutral couches and colourful cushions.</p>
<p>Laurent sat down. He knew most people laid down — at least in the movies — but he was wearing his favourite jeans. They cost sixty thousand dollars: probably more than all the furniture on this floor combined.</p>
<p>Laurent spied a lava lamp in the corner, and thought, yes, <em>definitely </em>more.</p>
<p>Eric the Therapist was not what Laurent had expected.</p>
<p>He was young for one — forty, he told Laurent when he had asked — and he was very tall and <em>very </em>attractive.</p>
<p>He also looked <em>exactly </em>like Eric from <em>The Little Mermaid </em>— a movie Laurent knew by heart because Nicaise had watched it incessantly as a child, something Nicaise denied now, which only made it more fun whenever Laurent brought it up in engagements.</p>
<p>Eric the Therapist was also the kind of man Laurent would have loved to have sex with. His age, and their patient-therapist dynamic would have made it more fun, illicit to pursue it. And Eric the Therapist probably slept with patients all the time; it would be easy to convince him to sleep with Laurent.</p>
<p>But Laurent, lately, had become apathetic to sex. His recent tryst with Lazar and Jord had only solidified the feeling. He supposed it had to do something with wanting to only have sex with a man who was on the other side of the world. A man who was already having sex with a gorgeous woman.</p>
<p>Seated opposite him, relaxed and unbearably professional, Eric the Therapist asked him the most <em>boring </em>questions imaginable.</p>
<p>Things like: “Why did you come in here today?” and “What are you hoping to get out of these sessions?”</p>
<p>Laurent said, “I’m here because Paschal told me I had to and I owe him a solid because he’s the nicest man alive. Besides Herode, obviously.” He thought about saying <em>your cock </em>in relation to the second question, but settled on: “I don’t know.”</p>
<p>Laurent had only been booked in for an hour, but it felt like it dragged on for<em>ever</em>, even longer than the Council meeting on taxes. The session ended with Laurent telling Eric the Therapist about his favourite Armani collection, because Laurent had been resistant to most, if not all, the topics that had been brought up: Al was a pass, as well as Auguste, Damianos was a hard no, and so was the Queen, and <em>obviously </em>Laurent didn’t want to ruminate on any past relationships, sexual or otherwise.</p>
<p>At the end, Eric the Therapist said patiently, “I know this experience is new and frightening for you, Laurent. I hope as we get to know each other in this journey, you will be more comfortable in trusting me to lead you to a more fulfilling life.” He gave him a warm, handsome smile. “After all, a healed soul is a wonderful soul.”</p>
<p>“Ew,” said Laurent.</p>
<p>Auguste was waiting for him in the Prince’s Courtyard when he came back. He was pacing, jittery and muttering to himself.</p>
<p>When he saw Laurent, though, he straightened, looking composed and relaxed. It would have been convincing if not for how deliberate it was.</p>
<p>“How was it?” Auguste said.</p>
<p>“Fine,” Laurent said, shrugging.</p>
<p>Auguste narrowed his eyes. Laurent hated it when he did that; he looked so much like Al it made his stomach clench.</p>
<p>“Just fine?”</p>
<p>“Yes. I mean. It was a bit boring.”</p>
<p>“<em>Boring</em>?"</p>
<p>Laurent didn't understand why Auguste was getting so worked up. "It was just the introductory session. I'm sure it'll get better."</p>
<p>Now Auguste relaxed for real. "That's good," he said, nodding. "I'm glad you're going in the first place."</p>
<p>"Hmm," said Laurent. Then, "Do you want to go out for a drink?"</p>
<p>"Oh." Auguste perked up. "Oh — yes, sure. Uh. But don’t tell Father. I told him I wouldn’t drink before seven any more.”</p>
<p>“Why the fuck would <em>I </em>tell Al? Also, you don’t have to promise him things like that. You’re thirty, a whole grown ass man.”</p>
<p>Auguste just shrugged. He looked annoyed, but it was hard to tell.</p>
<p>They went to the same bar they always frequented: it was local, everyone knew who they were and had been trained in serving them, and it was on Al’s list of approved places they were allowed to go, which was very important to Auguste.</p>
<p>After their third round, Auguste said, “I’m thinking of organising a trip to Vask in two months. We can finally start discussion on the preservation of the mountains on the border. Father says if we show initiative, it will be a good look for us.”</p>
<p>“Sure,” said Laurent, wondering if Damianos would go too. Would he be happy to see Laurent? How would they even interact with each other? Damianos had said they would be friends but here Laurent was, unable to return a call or text. Maybe Damianos would be mad; he looked so hot when he was angry it made Laurent —</p>
<p>“Wait,” Laurent said, frowning. “In two months? Won’t you be in uni?”</p>
<p>Laurent had spent most of his childhood and teenage years memorising Auguste’s schedule, counting the days until he came home. Laurent knew all the start and end dates of each semester, the holiday dates, even now.</p>
<p>Auguste shifted. His eyes fixed on a spot above Laurent’s shoulder.</p>
<p>After a long, drawn out moment, he said, “I’m thinking of not going back to uni for next semester. Or the one after.”</p>
<p>“What?” Laurent said, loud enough that Auguste’s guard, Chelaut, jumped.</p>
<p>Auguste’s mouth pressed down and he drank more beer. He didn’t reply.</p>
<p>Laurent said, “Why aren’t you going to uni? You only <em>have </em>two semesters left!” He glared when Auguste kept ignoring him. “Does Al know about this?”</p>
<p>“No,” Auguste said shortly.</p>
<p>“But —” Laurent paused. “Aren’t you worried about what he’ll say?”</p>
<p>“No. I. I think it’s important to engage in more of my royal duties here. It’s why I’m organising the Vask trip — to show Father I’m not just sitting around.”</p>
<p>“Is that supposed to be a comment about my work ethic?” Laurent said, incensed. “Because you <em>know</em> I’m —”</p>
<p>“No. Jesus. I’m preparing for my eventual coronation, so I need to be on top of a lot of — Look.” Auguste sighed. “I’ve spent most of my adult life away from the Palace, away from Vere. It’s something that people have noticed, so I’m trying to be more involved here.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but, completing your degree <em>is </em>a royal duty. Al said it was important you complete this one especially because —”</p>
<p>“This is my second masters. I think I’ll be fine.”</p>
<p>“I guess. It’s just. You. Before, on the phone, you used to say you didn’t want to come back.”</p>
<p>Auguste seemed shocked. “When did I say that?”</p>
<p>“At the beginning of every semester pretty much? You — it always seemed like you were having so much fun while you were away.”</p>
<p>Auguste closed his eyes, defeated. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”</p>
<p>“No! I mean, it’s fine.” Laurent smiled. “I get it; I’ve been dreaming about leaving the Palace since I was thirteen. I’m glad one of us managed it.”</p>
<p>But that only seemed to make Auguste more upset. He said, “Oh, Laurent,” then asked for another drink.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Later that night, after a completely silent meal with Al (Auguste had gone to his rooms, because he had drunk enough that it was noticeable), Laurent thought of Damianos. He missed him. He wanted him.</p>
<p>He was lonely, and just drunk enough, so Laurent did the unthinkable: he scrolled through his contacts and called Damianos.</p>
<p>Damianos picked up on the third ring — of course he did. He couldn’t do the decent, normal thing and ignore Laurent after Laurent had ignored him for days and days.</p>
<p>“Laurent?”</p>
<p>“Hey,” Laurent said quietly, closing his eyes, letting that warm, gorgeous voice wash over him.</p>
<p>"Oh my god,” Damianos said. “I can’t believe — how are you? It’s taken me a lot of willpower to not fly back up to Arles, FYI.”</p>
<p>Laurent smiled, the lump in his throat unbearable. “I’m sorry. I got… sick? I don’t really know. I wasn’t feeling well. But I’m better now and just… How are <em>you</em>?”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry you were unwell,” Damianos said diplomatically. “I thought… something serious had happened to you and — anyway. I’m glad you’re better.” He gave a small, relieved laugh. “Also, I’m good. It’s always strange to settle back in the Palace after I’ve been away, and we weren’t even away that long.”</p>
<p>Laurent settled comfortably into the propped pillows he listened to Damianos talk about how hectic his first week at the Palace had been, and how terrible the weather had been. (“I swear I’m being punished for leaving.”) He also mentioned Jo, and Nikandros, the Kyros of Delpha (whoops, Laurent had completely forgotten his name), and someone named Makedon, who seemed like the quirky, cool stepdad from every teen rom com.</p>
<p>“You alright?” Damianos said eventually, when Laurent didn’t say a word through his last two anecdotes.</p>
<p>“Yes. I’m fine. It’s just… I hate talking to you like this,” Laurent admitted. “You. It’s not that your voice isn’t nice — quite the opposite, actually. Have you considered voice acting? Ha. Wouldn’t that be something, the King of Akielos voicing some weird cartoon character — But.” Laurent took a deep breath. “You just. Talk so much with your face. You’re so expressive. It’s weird not seeing it.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Damianos said with a small chuckle. “I miss seeing your face, too. Should I just FaceTime you?”<br/>“Oh.” Laurent hesitated, looking down at his pyjamas (obviously expensive, and obviously silk, but pyjamas nonetheless). “I don’t — I look terrible right now.” He hadn’t even done his nightime skincare routine yet.</p>
<p>“I don’t think you could look terrible even if you completely tried,” said Damianos. “I’m calling you. Hold on.” He said it in that amazing, terrible, hot commanding voice that made Laurent’s insides turn to mush. He could do nothing but sit there as the call disconnected.</p>
<p>Not even a second later, Damianos FacedTimed him.</p>
<p>Laurent accepted the call with shaking fingers.</p>
<p>Damianos’ face took up the entire screen, but Laurent could still see the sun beaming down on top of his curls, and soothing lull of the ocean in the background.</p>
<p>“Hey,” said Damianos, warm and gentle. His smile was like that too, and it showed all his teeth and his dimple.</p>
<p>Laurent was so horrified by the sudden onslaught of tears in his eyes, he hung up without a word.</p>
<p>Pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets didn’t help stop them. “Fuck.”</p>
<p>Damianos called again. Laurent cried the whole time it rang, then picked up his phone and texted: <em>shitty reception. Talk later bye!!!!!!!</em></p>
<p>Damianos ruminated on his reply for a while, the three bubbles popping on screen for several minutes.</p>
<p>Finally, he said: <em>okay. </em></p>
<p>It wasn’t as though it was a <em>bad </em>reply, but its succinctness hurt Laurent — which was ridiculous; Damianos had no obligation towards him, Laurent had ignored Damianos, Damianos had a girlfriend, Damianos had left him, Damianos was never going to love him back.</p>
<p>Laurent buried his face into his pillow, willing his mind to shut up.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>But Damianos was wonderful, and persistent, and he was making it completely impossible for Laurent to fall out of love with him.</p>
<p>He called at the end of the week, after incessantly asking Laurent if he was alright with the time and day. And it did work: Laurent was prepared this time when Damianos called, and didn’t embarrass himself by crying spontaneously.</p>
<p>After that, it was easy. They didn’t talk the same day every week, but Damianos did always make sure Laurent was one hundred percent okay with the timing, days beforehand, as though he wasn’t the King of a country responsible for half the world’s seafood. (Not that Damianos oversaw that particular Akielon trade, but still).</p>
<p>Sometimes they talked about serious things. Laurent talked about his — the Queen, how he would visit her portraits. It was the first time he had ever told anyone about it, and Damianos listened with kind eyes and furrowed eyebrows. Laurent mentioned Aimeric sometimes, when he felt like it. He also mentioned Eric the Therapist, and it had been the only time he hadn’t felt shameful.</p>
<p>Damianos said, “It’s good you’re going somewhere where you can process your thoughts in a healthy, safe environment. I’m proud of you.”</p>
<p>(Laurent had changed the topic after that because it certainly <em>wasn't</em> what he was doing, and Damianos’ praise was undeserved).</p>
<p>Damianos told him about how long his days felt, how sometimes he just wanted a few moments to sit down, and how much he missed Laurent.</p>
<p>That part always made Laurent’s breath catch, his lungs swell. Once Laurent had touched himself right after Damianos had said it, but it made him feel guilty, so he had never done it again.</p>
<p>Damianos also said, one night, that he still hadn’t told the Kyroi about his and Jo’s relationship, yet. They were going to wait until Jo’s work was a bit more stable, and until Damianos was sure nothing dire would happen to Laurent. Even as Laurent assured him that Al was fine, Damianos said he didn’t want to risk it. <em>That</em> made Laurent both guilty and powerful: it was nice to know he still held some power in their relationship, but Laurent knew if the roles were reversed, he would not be as cool as Jo.</p>
<p>Most of the time, though, their conversations would go like this:</p>
<p>“Well, obviously, I’d rather have a shark tail than a shark head!”</p>
<p>“What, why? You wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without swimming.”</p>
<p>“Yes, exactly, Damianos! I would get to live out my dream of being a merman.”</p>
<p>“Okay, true.”</p>
<p>Or:</p>
<p>“I have this theory that Lord Chester has three nipples.”</p>
<p>“Holy shit! I had the same theory, so I commanded him once to take his shirt off. He didn’t even ask why, just did it.”</p>
<p>“And? Don’t keep me in suspense.”</p>
<p>“He has two. There’s a weird mole that pokes out in the middle of his chest, which explains why it <em>looks </em>like there’s a third.”</p>
<p>“I can’t believe you asked a Lord to take off his shirt. That’s very scandalous of you, Your Majesty.”</p>
<p>“Well, in my defence, I was nineteen and incredibly stupid.”</p>
<p>And even:</p>
<p>“Fuck Herode, kill Alice, and marry Nikandros.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, you’d fuck <em>Herode</em> over <em>Alice</em>? He’s a grandpa!”</p>
<p>“Yeah, it means he’s experienced,” Damianos said, so nonchalantly, Laurent had almost passed out from laughing.</p>
<p>The one downside to their calls were the way it ended.</p>
<p>Almost every time, Jo’s voice would call out, soft and sweet: “Time for bed, babe.” Or: “We have to go now, babe.” Or once, “Let’s go, babe. The Prime Minister is waiting.”</p>
<p>And every time, Damianos’ face would soften as he replied.</p>
<p>It was always so startling to see the transformation. Sometimes, Laurent could fool himself into thinking he was the only one who got to see Damianos’ face creased with happiness, but when he looked at Jo… it was so tender, it was heartbreaking.</p>
<p>Laurent could never look at him when he looked like that.</p>
<p>They would end the call, with Laurent feeling worse than before, yet equally as desperate for the next time he would get to see Damianos.</p>
<p>It was torture, but the god kind, the kind that made him happy.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Four weeks into seeing Eric the Therapist, Laurent fired him.</p>
<p>Well, he didn’t — <em>couldn</em><em>’t</em>, technically — fire him, since he wasn’t associated with the Palace, but after his fourth, maybe fifth? session he went downstairs and told the receptionist that he wasn’t going to be coming back.</p>
<p>Therapy was just so <em>pointless</em>. All Eric the Therapist wanted to talk about was Al, or Auguste and sometimes even Aimeric. Laurent just didn’t understand <em>why</em>.</p>
<p>He also said ridiculous things like: “Would it be inaccurate to say that you view sex as a transaction? A transaction where you lend your body for some companionship?”</p>
<p>What <em>was </em>that? Laurent had sex because it felt good and because in turn, he was very good at it. Why waste such talent and skill for when he decided to be monogamous?</p>
<p>The last straw had been today when Eric the Therapist had asked, “And why do <em>you </em>think your relationship failed with the King of Akielos?”</p>
<p>Laurent grit his teeth. “Because it was fake.”</p>
<p>Eric the Therapist nodded. “Ah. So you felt as though your feelings towards him weren’t genuine?”</p>
<p>“No, it —” Laurent stopped, realising it would be a complete waste of time to explain.</p>
<p>When he told Al, who had gone back to ignoring him most days (truly, the best Al), he looked relieved. “Good,” he nodded, then fixed Laurent with a hard glare. “So this means you’re better than before.”</p>
<p>Laurent didn’t understand what that meant. “… Yes.”</p>
<p>Al nodded and went back to his paper. Laurent liked it when Al was like this: life was simple, and even… good.</p>
<p>But, surprisingly, it was Auguste who became furious.</p>
<p>“You <em>quit</em>? Why? You were barely a month in!”</p>
<p>Laurent shrugged. “It wasn’t working.”</p>
<p>“‘Wasn’t working.’” Auguste said dully.</p>
<p>“Yes! I’ve told you from the beginning — all therapists are <em>whack</em>.”</p>
<p>Auguste glowered, mouth pinched. “You can’t just keep doing this, Laurent. You need to take things more seriously.”</p>
<p>“Excuse me,” Laurent said, voice flat. “I <em>do </em>take things seriously.”</p>
<p>“I’m calling Paschal. We’ll get you another therapist.”</p>
<p>“Jesus! Maybe <em>you </em>should go if you’re so obsessed with the idea. Then you’ll see how terrible it is, <em>and</em> see that I’m right.”</p>
<p>“I can’t keep having the same fucking conversations with you, Laurent. I’m going to call Paschal.” Auguste pointed a finger at him. “You’re going back, I don’t care what you say.”</p>
<p>It was like looking at an Al from the past. It was disgusting.</p>
<p>“God, what is <em>wrong </em>with you lately?” Laurent snapped. “You’ve been acting like a real fucking weirdo.”</p>
<p>“I’ve been acting like the only person in this goddamn place that fucking cares about you!” Auguste said, furious, voice loud enough to make the guards along the wall shift.</p>
<p>Laurent saw red. “Oh, fuck you. You don’t get to hop between caring about me and then not. You don’t know a single thing I need or want. You never have.”</p>
<p>Auguste stilled.</p>
<p>The devastation on his face was hard to look at it.</p>
<p>If he were talking to Al, there would only be anger, violence, not this kind of desolate guilt.</p>
<p>Laurent sighed. In a measured voice, he said, “I know you want to help, but trust me, I don’t need it. I’ve been looking after myself for a long time.”</p>
<p>Auguste grimaced, then turned away, stalking towards the door.</p>
<p>“Get some sleep!” Laurent shouted to his back. “You look like shit!”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The next evening, in the Prince’s Courtyard, Auguste gave him a can of Coke. Laurent smiled and handed him a pack of cigarettes he had nicked from Lord Basile while he had distracted him with more gay guinea pig talk (Laurent was slowly coming to like them, even if they were too hairy).</p>
<p>Together, they watched the sunset in silence.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Damianos, of course, had given him plenty of warning — maybe too much warning, if there was such thing — before the interview had dropped.</p>
<p>It was why he had been avoiding reading any newspapers — not that he did that anyway, this wasn’t… Victorian England, or whatever era had those gross paper boys with those loaf-like hats — and magazines, tabloids. He had even stopped going on Google, so he wouldn’t be tempted to search up Damianos’ name.</p>
<p>So it was still a shock when Nicaise, who had probably replaced Satan as the head honcho of all things evil, slid across the his phone at the next engagement, where an article had been pulled up.</p>
<p>The first thing Laurent noticed was the photo: Damianos and Jo, sat together on a sofa, backs straight and cuddling, the picture of perfect domesticity. They were both stunning.</p>
<p>The second thing Laurent noticed was that Damianos was wearing the brooch. It looked tiny on the expanse of his chest, a small glint of the past.</p>
<p>The headline read: <em>A new roaring royal couple! </em>Not exactly catchy. Rather horrendous, actually.</p>
<p>Nicaise smirked at the look on Laurent’s face. “I heard the Kyros have been saying what a <em>relief </em>it is that the King has gained some common sense after his <em>unfortunate </em>tryst with you.”</p>
<p>Laurent swallowed. It was like his heart was trying to escape.</p>
<p>“Excuse me,” he said, and walked quietly out the room.</p>
<p>They were in Heston’s estate, so Laurent didn’t know the grounds too well, but he kept walking until he saw the fountain they had walked past on the way here and sat down on it, burying his face in his hands, the flowing water a soothing backdrop. It was ridiculous how even <em>that </em>reminded him of Damianos.</p>
<p>He tensed when he heard the footsteps approaching. Looking up, he realised it was only Auguste, who must have followed him out here.</p>
<p>Laurent felt queasy: oh god, what was Al going to think if <em>both </em>his sons had gone missing? They had both left a meeting! An important one, too.</p>
<p>Laurent croaked out, “You should go back. I’ll be there in a minute.”</p>
<p>Auguste, hands behind his back, looked down at him. “Are you okay?”</p>
<p>The question took some time to register; when it did, Laurent’s face crumpled and he started crying, <em>again. </em>He was getting so tired of doing that. Why didn’t the human body know how to be sad some other way? Laurent would much rather be able to communicate with animals every time he got sad — that way he could find out whether Shakespeare liked his stables or not (or him, for that matter).</p>
<p>Auguste sat down next to him and put an arm on his shoulder. Laurent jerked away, and Auguste immediately retracted his hand. “Shit —”</p>
<p>That made Laurent cry harder. He <em>wanted </em>to be comforted, he wanted to be held. He just wished his stupid mind would <em>let him. </em></p>
<p>“Here,” said Auguste gently, holding out something wrinkled and yellow.</p>
<p>Laurent peered at it through his fingers. It was hard to make out through the tears, but he took it.</p>
<p>It was a handkerchief. Laurent said, “Thanks,” and wiped his face, trying to calm down.</p>
<p>“It was Mama’s,” Auguste said. “She embroidered the border herself. That’s why it’s all wonky and shit.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Laurent looked down at the now wet, wrinkled, yellow cloth. There was a hideous lime green border around it that was done extremely poorly. “Oh. Well. This was obviously done before she grew up to have taste.”</p>
<p>Or maybe she had never had it since she had married Al.</p>
<p>Auguste laughed. “Yeah, I guess. I think she was fifteen when she did that.”</p>
<p>Laurent’s lips turned. “I wish I had something of hers.”</p>
<p>“Oh — uh.”</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” Laurent said quickly. He gave Auguste a small smile. “I’m fine. Really.”</p>
<p>“Nicaise is a shit,” Auguste said. “I’m going to talk to his mother after this. I don’t think he should be allowed in meetings anymore, not until he’s eighteen, at the very least.”</p>
<p>Laurent sniffed. “Can’t we just drop him off somewhere where he can’t come back?”</p>
<p>Auguste laughed again. “If I could get away with it, I would have done it years ago.” He grew sombre after a moment. “You sure you’re — it sucks you had to see that.”</p>
<p>“Oh — no. It’s been almost three months,” Laurent wiped his face so he wouldn’t have to look at his brother. “He’s allowed to move on. I’m happy for him.”</p>
<p>“You should be able to move on too,” Auguste said eventually.</p>
<p>Laurent thought about it. “Who else would have me?”</p>
<p>Auguste turned away, so that his hair fell forward, out of his circlet. “So many people, Laurent.”</p>
<p>“You don’t know what it was like with him,” Laurent said softly. “I can’t love anyone else.”</p>
<p>“You’re young and — wonderful and you’re so — ”</p>
<p>“Don’t hurt yourself,” Laurent said.</p>
<p>“Stop that. I mean it.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Sorry.”</p>
<p>Auguste sighed. “Damianos is an idiot. This is <em>his </em>loss, not yours.”</p>
<p>Laurent snorted. “Only you think that.”</p>
<p>Laurent wished he hadn’t said it. Auguste looked so morose, he started tearing up again.</p>
<p>But it was true: it <em>was </em>Auguste who only thought that, and that’s why he was so upset — because he didn’t have a single rebuttal to Laurent’s claim.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>There was a voicemail — a <em>voicemail. </em>Had Laurent been transported to a time where people churned their own butter? — on his phone when he checked later that night.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Damianos’ voice was so clear, like he was sitting on the foot of Laurent’s bed. “So Jo said that telling the reporters to only say nice things about you was skirting some dictator-ish laws, but I don’t think they were going to be overtly negative either? Your guy from <em>GQ </em>— I forgot his name, shit — anyway, he was pretty upset over it. Ha. But yeah. I just wanted to let you know now that there’s nothing your — the King can get mad about. And uh, also I wanted to say thank you. For everything. You were right: it was easy. Uh, shit, I think I have to go. Remember — next Wednesday, at three, Arles time. Bye!”</p>
<p>Laurent replayed it so much, he eventually fell asleep like that: Damianos’ words in his ear, as though there was no distance between them at all.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Auguste was waiting outside his door the next morning.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong? Is it Al?” Something must have happened for Auguste to be here. He had never waited outside Laurent’s room before. “Oh my god. Is it Shakespeare?”</p>
<p>“No! Relax.” Auguste was biting his nail — something he also never did. “I wanted to give you something.”</p>
<p>From his coat pocket, he produced something wrapped in pink tissue paper.</p>
<p>Laurent scrunched his nose. Surely nothing expensive would come in <em>that</em>.</p>
<p>He unfolded the paper with little care and then raised an eyebrow. It was a silver comb, with small pearls clustered near the head. “Are you telling me I need to brush my hair <em>more</em>?”</p>
<p>“No, idiot.” Auguste’s smile was fond. “It’s Mama’s. I’ve had it for a while, but I think it needs a new home now.”</p>
<p>Laurent clutched it to his chest, suddenly overwhelmed. “Oh.” His lip quivered. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>“It’s alright.” Auguste was turning red.</p>
<p>“No really —” Laurent inhaled sharply. “You’re a good brother.”</p>
<p>Auguste turned plum now. “You are too,” he said, the words tumbling out fast and unexpectedly shy.</p>
<p>Laurent smiled, feeling good, truly <em>good</em> for the first time in days.</p>
<p>Breakfast was not in the Blue Dining Room, but in the Formal China Room today.</p>
<p>Laurent — and Auguste, too — didn’t think anything of the sudden change until they saw that Al was seated with a guest at the dining table.</p>
<p>Oh god, dealing with a Lord so early in the morning should have been outlawed. Laurent’s ancestors had once banned books over three hundred pages from being printed but <em>this </em>was okay?</p>
<p>Laurent had never seen this Lord before. He was gorgeous, perhaps the most handsome man he had ever seen — and Laurent had seen himself <em>and </em>Damianos, so that was saying something.</p>
<p>His shoulders were broad, the line of his jaw sharper than any knife, and his hair was a nice, ashy brown. It brought out the green of his eyes very nicely. He looked young too: maybe a few years older than Auguste.</p>
<p>Laurent stared, despite himself. If he could see this man’s cock, and deem that it was up to standard, then he might have just discovered a whole new subcategory in the human race: disarmingly beautiful enough to start a plethora of wars and get away with it.</p>
<p>Even Auguste was staring. <em>Auguste. </em></p>
<p>“Good morning,” Al said cheerily. Cheerily! Oh god, was this Al’s new King consort? Laurent wouldn’t have even blamed him if he were. Maybe they could have another Portrait Room dedicated to this man.</p>
<p>“Morning,” Auguste mumbled, mouth open.</p>
<p>“Fabusholisd,” said Laurent — or something like that. <em>Yes, </em>it was a word, thank you very much.</p>
<p>“This is Duke Alexander David Leon Gabriel Noah Richardson of Kempt,” Al said, patting the stranger on the back, who had flushed at his name.</p>
<p>And suddenly it made sense why Al had been so weird, so unbothered about his and Damianos’ breakup, because he looked right at Laurent and said, “Laurent, come forward. Alexander is here to ask for your hand in marriage.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. The Photograph.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi everyone!!! it’s been a while, and i apologise sincerely for my absence, but if you follow me on tumblr you may know that my grandfather passed away and for a while life was just very sad. thank you to everyone for being patient with me, and forgiving me all your love and support during this time. i appreciate it so much.</p><p>the good news is i’m back to regular uploads and the next chapter is already half written :) love you all!!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Laurent turned red. His ears were ringing, and it was making him light-headed.</p><p>“Um,” he said.</p><p>“What?” Auguste said, so loud that the Duke winced.</p><p>“Uh.” Lord Too Many Names said.</p><p>Some time must have passed, because Al’s eyebrows pinched together in a straight line: a bad sign. In an impatient tone, he said, “Well? Step forward.”</p><p>Laurent took a step forward.</p><p>“Laurent, don’t! Stay still,” Auguste said, exasperated.</p><p>Laurent stayed put.</p><p>Al’s gaze fell on Auguste, briefly, and the distaste on his face was both surprising and terrifying. To Laurent, he said, “Laurent, <em>come here. </em>I’m not going to ask you again.”</p><p>The Duke made a face that he quickly schooled into neutrality, though he seemed to have suddenly developed an interested in the gold trimmed frames on the other side of the room.</p><p>Laurent cast a furtive glance at Auguste, who had gone red too, and stepped forward.</p><p>“<em>Stop</em>,” Auguste said again, jaw tight.</p><p>Laurent did, frowning. “Stop fucking commanding me. I’m not a bloody dog.” He meant it for Auguste’s ears only, but the Duke shifted in his seat again, and it was clear that he had heard it, too. Which meant —</p><p>Now it was Al who had turned red. Well, crimson. The colour was edging towards his temple and ears, and it was completely throwing off the colour of his jacket. A jacket that was the wrong clothing choice in the pleasant, boring colouring of the Formal China Room.</p><p>His expression was thunderous. Seeing it now, Laurent realised how long it had been since he had seen Al angry. After all these months of Al ignoring him, Laurent didn’t want to face Al’s wrath.</p><p>He quickly stepped forward, but was stopped by the hand on his arm, which wrapped tightly around his bicep.</p><p>Laurent made a noise of shock, jerking his arm away violently. In the process, his elbow knocked against Auguste’s nose.</p><p>“Fuck!”</p><p>Laurent turned, wide eyed, as Auguste cradled his nose, his eyes brimming with tears.</p><p>Laurent’s arm was tingling, his heart thudding against his ribcage. He resisted the urge to rub the spot where Auguste had just touched him, but he could still <em>feel </em>it: the unbearable warmth, the tips of his fingertips, the harsh grip.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Laurent managed, miserably.</p><p>Auguste nodded, blinking back tears. When he dropped his hands, Laurent gasped. “You’re bleeding!”</p><p>There was a neat, straight line of blood trickling down from Auguste’s left nostril, staining his moustache.</p><p>A chair scraped. Al stood up with a speed that was impressive. “Auguste!” he said, and it was like a flip had been switched in him; even from here, his concern was palpable.</p><p>“’M fine,” Auguste said, “Really.”</p><p>He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, which was disgusting and exactly the kind of behaviour Al would not have tolerated. His knuckles shone red.</p><p>Laurent quickly shuffled away as Al came up to them, hoping that if aliens were watching them, they would do the decent thing and abduct him right now.</p><p>But Auguste didn’t give Al the chance to hover. “I said I’m fine,” he said firmly. “Come on, Laurent, let’s go. We’ll have McDonald’s for breakfast.”</p><p>“I —” Laurent stared at his brother, then his father, whose concern had evaporated.</p><p>Through clenched teeth Al said, “<em>Auguste</em>. We have a <em>guest</em>, in case you have forgotten.”</p><p>Auguste tipped his chin. “I’ve just been punched in the face. I think our <em>guest</em> will understand if I leave right now.” He raised his voice. “Right, Your Grace?”</p><p>Realising he had just been addressed by the Crown Prince, the Duke scrambled up, too. “Of course, Your Highness. Please take all the time you need to feel better.”</p><p>Dear, god, his <em>voice</em>. Laurent didn’t think he had heard anything like it: it was so deep, and steady, and his Veretian was perfect, as though he had lived here his entire life. He had to find out what laboratory this man had been created in, because he was going to order several more.</p><p>The Duke met his eyes and gave him a small smile.</p><p>Laurent turned red for a much different reason.</p><p>“Well, yes, fine,” Al was saying, clearly trying to salvage the last few minutes. “Auguste, you’re excused. Laurent, however, can —”</p><p>“Come with me,” Auguste cut in smoothly, with a pleasant smile that did not reach his eyes. He was starting to bleed again. “I need some help getting back to my rooms.”</p><p>“The guards —”</p><p>“No, I’m afraid this is a task only Laurent can help me with.” Auguste was still smiling, and with his bloody moustache, he genuinely looked like a serial killer. The super sick kind that probably killed dogs as well.</p><p>“Auguste —”</p><p>“Let’s go, Laurent!” Without another glance at Al, he strode towards the door.</p><p>Al’s mouth had shrivelled up: a terrible sign.</p><p>Laurent hesitated for a split second, then eyed his father with trepidation. “He doesn’t seem well. I’m going to take him to the infirmary.”</p><p>Before he could hear Al’s response, he quickly followed Auguste. He looked back just in time to see Al march back to the table.</p><p>The Duke was still watching him. Laurent waved, because he didn’t want to seem rude, and the Duke waved back, his mouth widening.</p><p>Dear god.</p><p>Auguste was already down the hallway by the time Laurent caught up to him. His head was down and he was walking very fast. Laurent had to break out into a light jog to keep up with him.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Laurent said, still miserable. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear, I was just —”</p><p>“Oh, god, no,” Auguste said, waving him off. “Don’t apologise. Completely my fault, after all. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. I know how much it bothers you, but it completely slipped my mind.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Laurent said. “But I still shouldn’t have… My body, I don’t think it realised it was just you, and that’s why I freaked out, you know? I was… There was…” Laurent struggled to explain his panic. He was almost running at this point, which was horrendous. He didn’t run! And certainly not in these shoes! “Auguste, please stop for a second!”</p><p>Auguste stopped. He finally lifted his head, and Laurent grimaced, a sudden bout of nausea dwelling in his stomach.</p><p>“You’re still bleeding,” he said. “Let’s go to the infirmary.”</p><p>Auguste seemed surprised when he touched his nose, like he had forgotten about it. He wiped it with his jacket sleeve this time.</p><p>Laurent gaped. His nausea was more prominent now. “That’s a custom Celine! You’ve ruined it!”</p><p>“Have I?” Auguste said, with that terrible, pleasant smile. “Oh, well.” He clapped his hands together. “Let’s get down to business. What do you want for breakfast? I know I said McDonald’s, but honestly, I think I could go for some fried chicken. See, that’s the beauty of breakfast. People tend to pigeonhole what kind of food you can eat in the morning, but really, who comes up with these rules, anyway? The world is our oyster. Oh! Shall we have oysters? Or maybe some crab? You like crab, right? What about pasta? Seafood pasta, yes?”</p><p>Laurent swallowed.</p><p>“Auguste…” He said quietly. “You’re scaring me.”</p><p>Auguste became sombre at once. “Oh. I shall stop talking at once, then.”</p><p>Their eyes met wearily, the blue-green of Auguste’s unusually bright in this lighting.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Laurent said.</p><p>Auguste smiled again. “Nothing. I’m fine! Just super hungry.”</p><p>“You’re not behaving like yourself.”</p><p>“I am! It’s just been a while since I’ve been <em>this </em>hungry, you feel me?”</p><p>“‘You feel me?’” Laurent repeated. “You’re talking gibberish.” He squinted at his brother, suddenly nervous. “You don’t think… I mean I hit you pretty hard. Maybe I somehow ruined your brain? Isn’t the inside of your nose connected to your brain? That’s how they pulled out brains for mummies right? From the brain?”</p><p>Auguste blinked.</p><p>Laurent blinked back.</p><p>There was a pause.</p><p>“So, breakfast?” Auguste said.</p><p>Laurent frowned. “Stop trying to distract me with food! We’re going to the infirmary.”</p><p>“I told you I’m —”</p><p>“Yes, fine, I know! But you’re bleeding! And you’ve ruined a twelve thousand dollar jacket! And you’re saying weird slang! And — <em>you have a moustache</em>!”</p><p>There was another pause.</p><p>“Alright, fine,” Auguste said, already walking briskly again. “We’ll go see Paschal, then go out to eat.”</p><p>“Alright,” Laurent said, refusing to start jogging again.</p><p>Paschal was on hospital duty today, and so Auguste was tended to by the on call doctor, a severe woman named Stella who always refused to give Laurent lollipops after his appointments. If Auguste got a lollipop today, he was going to lose it.</p><p>Laurent hovered over her shoulder, watching as she gently wiped the blood from Auguste’s knuckles and moustache.</p><p>Laurent’s hissed, “Shave it,” was ignored by the both of them.</p><p>After applying some kind of numbing cream, Stella said, “Well, you’re very lucky it isn’t broken, Your Highness. The damage is mild; it’s possible there will be no swelling either.”</p><p>Auguste made to get up with a nod, but Laurent stopped him by waving his hand.</p><p>“Can you please check his head, too? His brain, I mean,” he quickly corrected.</p><p>Stella frowned. “You want me to do an MRI, Your Highness?”</p><p>Laurent pursed his lips. “I’m not a doctor but um… yes, one of those, please.”</p><p>Auguste rolled his eyes. “I don’t need my head checked.” He pushed himself off the plastic chair. “Thank you, Stella.”</p><p>“But —”</p><p>“Let’s go.” Auguste picked up his jacket and gestured to the door.<br/>Laurent watched him go helplessly, then sighed.</p><p>He <em>was </em>pretty hungry.</p><p>*</p><p>Technically, when Al wasn’t present, Laurent and Auguste weren’t allowed to ride together. If they did, during official engagements, then their security was tripled, and streets were closed off well ahead.</p><p>But right now, Auguste seemed to be on some strange rule-bending journey, and he slid into the backseat of Laurent’s limo.</p><p>“What?” he said when he caught Laurent staring.</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>Laurent averted his eyes to the window instead. Well. If someone were to attack their vehicle, he would have to do the heroic thing and push Jord’s body in front of Auguste’s.</p><p>After all, as he had been told countless times as child and teenager: Vere would be ruined if Auguste were to die. Laurent assumed Al would organise a parade if Laurent died. Or maybe he’d just sigh in relief and go on about his day. Yes, actually, that would probably be it. A parade was too much effort.</p><p>Laurent was surprised when the cars stopped in front of a line of glass buildings that all looked the same. He was even more surprised to realise they were in the Arles CBD. They were <em>never </em>allowed here: the city was too crowded and chaotic for any members of the royal family to walk around seamlessly. Even Nicaise’s grubby paws weren’t allowed to come here.</p><p>“Um,” Laurent said. “I don’t think this place is on Al’s list.”</p><p>Auguste ignored him. He was already sliding out of the car.</p><p>After some deliberation, Laurent stepped out. He had been photographed doing much worse than stepping into a restaurant, after all.</p><p>Auguste led them down the road, which was slowly parting as the guardsmen blocked them off. People were beginning to stare, and many of them seemed to recognise them. From the corner of his eye, Laurent saw a young woman bow her head slightly.</p><p>It was very strange; Laurent had never been anywhere with so many commoners, but Auguste seemed to be at ease, walking down the cement pavement as though he did it often.</p><p>The restaurant Auguste had picked out didn’t have a single chandelier, or any suede lounges. It smelled of greasy eggs, and it was so dark and cramped, it made Laurent’s lungs seize up for a moment.</p><p>There was a young teenager in black uniform behind the counter, her hair tied up. Her mouth dropped open when she saw them, and then she quickly bowed, so low Laurent thought her nose might touch the ground.</p><p>“Have you been here before?” Laurent muttered, and Auguste shook his head.</p><p>The girl seemed to have become permanently frozen, so it was a relief to see a pot-bellied man wearing the same uniform come towards them.</p><p>“Your Majesties!” He cried, loud enough it quickly garnered the attention of the other patrons, who instantly began whispering amongst themselves. “It’s an honour to have you here in <em>The Morning Brekkie.</em>”</p><p>“The what? That’s an awful name.” Laurent said. “Er — I mean.” He faltered under Auguste’s gaze. “Neither of us are the King, so you shouldn’t call us Majesty.”</p><p>The man flushed. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me, Your… Er.”</p><p>“Highness,” Laurent finished for him helpfully.</p><p>“Could you please get us a table that has some privacy?” Auguste said then, and Laurent was thankful to move away from the doorway, which had people from outside plastered to it. The guards had gathered around it to prevent them from coming in.</p><p>“Why did you bring us here?” Laurent hissed at his back as they were led down the narrow aisle, past rows of eyes and tables.</p><p>Auguste didn’t answer him.</p><p>When they sat down, he asked, “Do you guys have alcohol here?”<br/>Laurent gaped. “It’s ten in the morning.”</p><p>The man flushed again. “I’m afraid not, Your <em>Highness</em>.” He beamed at Laurent expectantly as he said it, so Laurent gave him an encouraging thumbs up. “But I would be more than happy to go and get some for you.”</p><p>“Great!” Auguste said, with his charming, princely smile.</p><p>Laurent peered at him for a moment, but Auguste seemed enthralled with the large laminated cardboard that had been presented to them.</p><p>With horror, Laurent realised it was the <em>menu. </em></p><p>“No, seriously, what is this place? Why did you bring us here? Is this revenge for your nose?”</p><p>Auguste exhaled, though he looked amused. “Laurent, if I wanted revenge, I would simply tell you that your blazer is tacky.”</p><p>Laurent’s mouth dropped open, a hand coming to his heart. “…Touché,” he said faintly. He knew his blazer was not tacky — not in the slightest; it made the shade of his eyes more vivid and warm — but still. It was a low blow.</p><p>It also still didn’t explain anything about their current location, or the unfathomable glaze in Auguste’s eyes. It was like he wasn’t seeing things clearly, just flitting over random objects.</p><p>He looked like…</p><p>Well, like Laurent, right before he had a panic.</p><p>“Auguste,” Laurent tried to keep his voice gentle, soft, the way he spoke to Shakespeare when he was being especially grumpy. “You know you can… <em>talk</em> to me right?” He made sure to italicise the word <em>talk</em>, to demonstrate its meaningfulness.</p><p>“Talk? Of course we can talk.” Auguste said smiling that horrible smile. “We’re talking right now.”</p><p>“No, I know. I meant more in a —”</p><p>“Your <em>Highness</em>.” The man from before came scrambling back with a large bottle of wine. It’s label read <em>Shingles</em>. “This bottle is on the house.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Auguste, this time with a smile that was more winning.</p><p>Laurent wondered how he could change between the two so effortlessly. And then he wondered how often Auguste had done it before to pull it off so effortlessly.</p><p>As soon as the man left, Auguste popped off the bottle and began chugging it.</p><p>Laurent made a loud noise in the back of his throat: half genuine shock, and half horrified.</p><p>He thought he might have a heart attack, as he watched Auguste’s throat bob with quick, determined gulps.</p><p>People were <em>watching</em> this.</p><p>Auguste’s lips were stained a dark colour when he pulled off. He looked like he was bleeding from the inside out. “God. That’s fucking revolting.” He peered at the label. “What the fuck is <em>Shingles</em>?”</p><p>Laurent didn’t — couldn’t — say anything.</p><p>Auguste took two more noisy gulps.</p><p>Then he said: “Yeah, alright, I’m mad.”</p><p>Laurent nodded, thinking. Okay, this was good. Auguste’s brain injury was clearly not so serious that he couldn’t admit that he was going crazy.</p><p>“I didn’t mean that I’m crazy.” Auguste said with an eye roll as though he could read Laurent’s mind. “I meant that I’m <em>angry</em>.”</p><p>“Oh!” Laurent said, sitting up. Being angry seemed a lot easier to deal with. “Wait — at what?”</p><p>“At our father! The King!”</p><p>Laurent tried to think if Al had recently called Auguste anything untoward, the way he always did with Laurent. He couldn’t think of any instance. “Why?”</p><p>“Why?” Auguste snapped. “Are you seriously fucking asking me that?”</p><p>“… Yes?”</p><p>“Laurent.” Auguste said his name in a slow, condescending manner. “Have you forgotten that just a little over an hour ago, Father tried to get a complete stranger to marry you?”</p><p>“No, of course I haven’t forgotten. I just — why are you <em>mad </em>about it?”</p><p>There was something almost feral in Auguste’s face. He looked deranged. “I’m sorry, should I be — be —” He struggled to finish. “Wait. Why aren’t <em>you </em>mad?”</p><p>“Well, I —” Laurent tried to remember what he had been thinking when Al had told him to step forward. Fear, hesitance, resolution, and a little bit of lust, because well, the Duke was… “I mean I’m used to it, I guess. Al’s done this many times before. Once, I went on a first date with Lord Simon, and he proposed, and it was <em>so </em>funny because when he pulled out the ring from his pocket, this cheque from Al fell out. Do you want to know how much it was for? Wait, no, guess. It really was funny.”</p><p>But Auguste looked far from amused, and Laurent’s smile slowly slipped off, inch by inch.</p><p>“‘Many times before?’”</p><p>“Um, yes.”</p><p>With a slow, forced exhale, Auguste said, “Father has set you up like this with other men? Men who have proposed to you… For money?”</p><p>“And a title, I presume.”</p><p>“I see,” Auguste said in a way most people said ‘I think I am going to commit murder today.’</p><p>“You didn’t know?” Laurent said after a moment, when Auguste just sat there, seething. “I thought you and Al were… close. I mean, you guys talk and Al does that teeth thing around you.”</p><p>Although Auguste’s eyes narrowed at the ‘teeth thing’, he shook his head. “No. I mean… Yes, he told me he wanted to find you a suitable match, but he didn’t — I didn’t know he was just springing them onto you like that, or — or <em>paying </em>them. I thought… I thought he was just looking out for you.”</p><p>Laurent flushed, looked away.</p><p>“I didn’t realise he was so obsessive about it either,” Auguste continued. “I had only just told him how upset you still are about Damianos and he —”</p><p>“God! Why would you tell him that!”</p><p>“So he would cut you some slack! You were all over the place, Laurent, even with the therapy, which I still don’t think you should have stopped by the way —”</p><p>“<em>Ugh</em>, are we still going on about —”</p><p>“And his response was to bring fucking Alexander in three days later to <em>propose </em>to you?”</p><p>“Well.” Laurent paused. “I’m twenty-one soon. That was the deadline.”</p><p>“…Twenty-one? Why is that — what is the significance of that number?”</p><p>There were actually two significant reasons, as Al had explained to Laurent right after his eighteenth birthday.</p><p>(Well, several weeks after his eighteenth, when Al had finally stopped avoiding him because of the Queen’s death anniversary).</p><p>Number one: Laurent would no longer need to rely on the Palace — and by extension, Al’s — money when he turned twenty-one, because that was when the trust fund set up by the late Queen would finally be his. And number two: Laurent could — if he wanted to — officially be coronated as the King of Acquitart, a small country that was located on the tail end of Vere. It was such a tiny blip of space that before Laurent’s birth, most maps didn’t even include it. But it had been a gift from Laurent’s grandfather, and Al wanted him to rule it so he would no longer have complete ties with Vere. Laurent loved Acquitart, but ruling it would be like letting a child hold a plastic hammer so they felt included, while you built a whole castle with your bare hands.</p><p>Acquitart didn’t even have a Prada store. And if Laurent made his manor there, it would take up half the country.</p><p>Also — Laurent <em>loved </em>Vere. It was <em>his</em>. He didn’t want Al to take it away from him.</p><p>Laurent didn’t say any of that, though. It was too much to get into, so soon. It wasn’t even noon, for fuck’s sake.</p><p>Instead he said, “Wait — backtrack. You referred to the Duke by his first name. Do you know him? Have you seen his cock?”</p><p>Auguste was displeased with his the sudden change in conversation. But he still said, “No, I wish,” in response to the cock question, Laurent presumed, because he went red and cleared his throat. “I mean. Er. Yes, obviously, I know him. I’m the Crown Prince of Kempt, too. Well, technically. Their government kind of just keeps me on as a figurehead and.” He stopped. “Yes, I know Alexander. He’s a good man, and highly respected. Which is why I wanted to punch him this morning for trying to propose. If I find out he was paid, I’ll kill him. That’s a promise.”</p><p>“Oh.” Laurent was touched. “I don’t think murder is good for your image. Or soul, I guess.”</p><p>Auguste was still miserable. Laurent was a little miserable, too. Why did Al have to also ruin <em>this, </em>their brotherhood?</p><p>Laurent sighed. “Look. I’m not even going to say yes to Alexander if he proposes, I swear. I made it a rule a long time ago that I would never date any man whose name has A and L as the first two letters.”</p><p>“What, why?”</p><p>“Because then it could be shortened to Al! God, just imagine!” Laurent threw his hands up in the air. “I’ve had to say no to some <em>very </em>wonderful men because of it. Including <em>Ali</em>.”</p><p>Laurent gave Auguste a pointed look at this, but was only met with confusion.</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“The chiropractor Al hired last summer!”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, shit.” Auguste nodded. “He was like… super hot. Crazy hot. Wow.”</p><p>“<em>Ridiculously</em> hot.” Laurent crossed his arms and sniffed. “So, as you can see, I have made some very serious sacrifices for this family.”</p><p>Auguste nodded again. “Yeah, definitely.”</p><p>Laurent smiled at him, and tentatively, Auguste returned it. With a real one.</p><p>“I wanted to marry Damianos,” Laurent founded himself saying, quite without meaning to. He blushed, his ears hot. “That is — I, I would have like it if he — if he had asked me. I don’t think I’m ready to get married, but he’s the only person I could imagine…”</p><p>Auguste’s pity made the back of Laurent’s throat itch.</p><p>“Anyway, we should order. All you have in your body is that horrible wine. Paschal would be horrified.” He picked up the laminated cardboard and held it up to his face, unseeing.</p><p>Auguste’s foot nudged against his underneath the table. A quick, reassuring touch.</p><p>Laurent closed his eyes. “Thanks,” he said quietly, talking to the menu’s brightly coloured images. “For getting mad on my behalf. And for caring about me.”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” Auguste said, sounding suspiciously choked up.</p><p>*</p><p>Shakespeare was throwing a tantrum.</p><p>Laurent suspected this was because he had fed him carrots from yesterday afternoon’s produce, and not carrots from this morning’s.</p><p>Laurent’s mistake was clearly costing him: Shakespeare kept jerking his head away every time Laurent tried to brush his mane. <em>And </em>he had stepped on Laurent’s new riding boots, like a huge, overgrown four-legged baby.</p><p>“Fine.” Laurent huffed, as Shakespeare huffed hot air right across his face. “See if I give you bananas ever again. Yeah, that’s right. A life without bananas — that’s the power I hold.”</p><p>Shakespeare huffed again.</p><p>“<em>And </em>I’ll make sure to wake up at dawn from now on and force you to go riding. Hmm? Imagine that — seeing the sun <em>rise. </em>Huh?”</p><p>“Uh, hey.”</p><p>Laurent stopped and stared at Shakespeare. “Did you just —”</p><p>"Your Highness. Behind you.”</p><p>Laurent turned, and saw the last person he expected to see standing in a smelly stable.</p><p>The sun was setting behind the Duke, and although it was darkening the sides of his face, he was still handsome, and tall and so… <em>broad. </em>Despite the chill in the air, he had taken off the jacket from this morning, and was wearing a pale button down shirt.</p><p>“I —” Laurent swallowed, embarrassed and attracted all at once. “How much did you hear?”</p><p>“Nothing, I swear,” the Duke said, smiling. He had his hands behind his back. “I was wondering if I could talk to you?”</p><p>For a moment, Laurent was so dizzy he legitimately thought he might pass out. It felt like he had been transported to another time, with another man, a man who was just as handsome and tall and broad and was kind and fascinating and had cared about Laurent like no one had before and who —</p><p>“Speak,” Laurent said, and hoped his tone conveyed the fact that he wasn’t going to move anytime soon.</p><p>The Duke didn’t seem to like the command, but his smile was still polite. He said, formally, “I would like to apologise for the events that transpired this morning. I didn’t realise the King would take my request to court you as a marriage proposal, and I certainly didn’t expect him to —”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Laurent said, knowing he was being rude, “You asked the King whether you could… <em>court me</em>? We don’t even know each other.”</p><p>What was it about men and their fucking audacity? Why would anyone ask <em>Al</em> something like that? It was just so weird and awkward and rude.</p><p>The Duke flushed, the colour incredibly lovely on his face. “Please forgive me for my boldness. I was told that in Vere it is tradition to ask the King or Queen for permission to court their children.”</p><p>“Well, yes, maybe a few centuries ago.”</p><p>Although now that he thought about it: the King or Queen <em>did </em>have to give their approval for their children’s marriages. So, yes, technically, Al <em>would </em>have approve his boyfriends too…</p><p>Laurent corrected himself. “Sorry. I mean, yes. It’s — you do need permission. But that doesn’t mean — we still don’t know each other.”</p><p>“Your brother talks highly of you all the time, and so do most of the Council members. And well,” the Duke’s expression grew coy. “I see now that the anecdotes of your beauty were clearly not exaggerated.”</p><p>Laurent knew he was blushing, and hated himself for it. It wasn’t even a new or particularly clever line, but when it was coming out of this man’s mouth, he didn’t even mind.</p><p>He wondered if this was how Damianos would have approached him in the alternate universe where Laurent was actually well-respected enough to land a King.</p><p>“…Thank you.”</p><p>Shakespeare’s whinnying was the only thing that kept the silence from being… silent.</p><p>“Well, either way, this was not how I expected my first morning in Vere to go,” the Duke said. He cleared his throat, and then he stepped closer, into the stable. “But now that we have a chance to talk alone, I was wondering…”</p><p>Laurent had a sudden vision: if he was going to be proposed to in the same place where Shakespeare shit, with the smell of horse clinging to his nostrils, he was going to scream.</p><p>“… if you would go to dinner with me tonight? I would be honoured if you were to say yes.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>It was a step up from a unwanted proposal, Laurent supposed. But, as handsome as the Duke was, there were three reasons why Laurent just… couldn’t.</p><p>One: he had been approved by Al, and anyone approved by Al wasn’t going to be what Laurent wanted.</p><p>Two: his name was <em>Alexander</em>. Alexander could be shortened to <em>Al. </em>It was unfathomable.</p><p>Three: he was in love with Damianos.</p><p>So Laurent said, “I’m sorry, but I… can’t.”</p><p>The Duke’s surprise coloured him. It was obvious he was the kind of man who didn’t hear the word <em>no </em>often. Perhaps this was the first time he had heard it all.</p><p>“Can’t tonight or can’t in general?”</p><p>“In general. Sorry,” Laurent said again, though he doubted it came off sincere.</p><p>“I… see.” The Duke straightened. “Thank you for your time, Your Highness. I… will see you later, hopefully.”</p><p>“Yes. Maybe.”</p><p>In retrospect, it wasn’t one of the most contrite goodbyes Laurent had been through. At least the Duke was smiling.</p><p>For a moment, Laurent wavered.</p><p>Maybe dinner with this man wouldn’t be so bad?</p><p>And then Shakespeare nudged his back, and Laurent realised he had a petulant horse to feed, so he turned around, face flaming.</p><p>“By the way,” he said, before he lost the nerve to. “You should tell Auguste about all this as well. He’s threatened to kill you a few times already.”</p><p>“Ah,” the Duke said. “Thank you, that’s sound advice. I’ll… go now.”</p><p>Laurent nodded, trying to stroke Shakespeare, who had finally noticed his anxiousness and begrudgingly lowered his head.</p><p>The sound of retreating footsteps was a relief.</p><p>*</p><p>It was clear that even though Auguste had locked himself up in his room to sleep after their escapade yesterday, he still had the gaunt look of a hungover man. Or maybe he hadn’t stopped drinking at all.</p><p>Laurent wasn’t sure which scenario worried him more.</p><p>Auguste even had both —yes, <em>both</em>! — his elbows on the table, his hands pushing back his hair, then again, when it kept falling forward into his eyes.</p><p>He hadn’t even looked at Laurent once, although he had attempted an aborted grunt in his direction. Laurent assumed it had meant ‘good morning’ or even ‘I will never have hair as amazing as yours.’</p><p>Al walked in, a newspaper already tucked under his arm, and the servants scrambled to serve food.</p><p>Laurent beamed when he saw the waffles and creamy scrambled eggs on his plate, and dug into it with an enthusiasm he rarely had in the morning.</p><p>The sound of dismay across the table made him look up.</p><p>Auguste’s face had paled further, the dark rings under his eyes stark and haunting. He was staring at his plate like he had never seen one before, and even Laurent felt dread at seeing the lumpy, cold oatmeal in front of Auguste.</p><p>Flicking his eyes to Al, who was reading the paper, Laurent’s first thought was:<em> The staff must have made a mistake. That was meant to be for me.</em></p><p>As he was trying to communicate this to Auguste’s forlorn face, which still hadn’t lifted, Al suddenly slammed down the newspaper.</p><p>The sharp <em>thwak </em>made Laurent wince.</p><p>“Explain.”</p><p>Al’s voice was flat: a terrifying sign.</p><p>Laurent glanced at the newspaper — which was just the notorious <em>Veretian Sun</em>, the most infamous tabloid in Vere — and saw a grainy photo on the front page.</p><p>Wondering if he had recently appeared half-clothed anywhere, Laurent braced himself, and realised, with a jolt, it was a photo of Auguste, taken at the exact moment he had had an entire wine bottle pressed to his mouth.</p><p>There was no point reading the headline.</p><p>Laurent only looked to his brother, whose eyes had bugged out of his head.</p><p>“Auguste. I’m not going to repeat myself.”</p><p>“It’s me in the photo,” Laurent said quickly. “I went out yesterday with Jord and Lazar.”</p><p>Al whirled on him. “Do <em>not </em>insult my intelligence, Laurent, or I swear to god —”</p><p>“What’s there to explain?” Auguste’s voice was as flat as Al’s had been. “I’m just drinking wine.”</p><p>Laurent clenched his hands into fists on top of his knees.</p><p>“According to this article,” Al said, turning back to Auguste, “You spent yesterday morning in the <em>CBD </em>drinking an <em>entire bottle of wine.</em>”</p><p>Well, he had only drank about three-quarters of the bottle, but Laurent knew sharing that tidbit would not earn him any favours.</p><p>Auguste shrugged. “Yeah. That’s pretty much it.”</p><p>Al’s nostrils flared. “And you were with Laurent, who for once, had the common sense not to be photographed.”</p><p>Laurent sat up, tensing, waiting for any more comments, but none came.</p><p>Auguste shrugged again.</p><p>“What is wrong with you? This is so unlike you — you’re behaving like <em>him.</em>”</p><p>Laurent swallowed, heat crawling up his neck.</p><p>Auguste cast a look of such intense loathing towards Al, it floored Laurent.</p><p>Even Al seemed caught off-guard: he pulled back, searching Auguste’s face, and then clenched his jaw.</p><p>“Well,” he said, with finality, when the pause suffocating the air had lingered for a few minutes, “I sincerely hope whatever this lapse of judgement was, it stays here in Vere, and doesn’t follow you when you go back to Kempt. God knows Mueler and his entire government are just waiting for you to slip up so they can denounce me as a —”</p><p>Quietly, Auguste cut in, “I’m not going back to Kempt, Father.”</p><p>Ah, fucking hell. Laurent didn’t want to be here for this.</p><p>He stared down at his lap as the silence returned.</p><p>This time, it was scorching.</p><p>Al said, “Excuse me?”</p><p>“I <em>said </em>I’m not going back to Kempt. I’m not going back to uni. I’m staying here, whether you like it or not.”</p><p>Despite his bravado, Auguste’s chest was heaving in rapid bursts, and colour was travelling up his neck.</p><p>It was almost like Al swelled up in his seat, taking up as much space as he could. He leaned over, as close as he could to Auguste. “Like fuck you are Auguste!” he roared, and Laurent jumped.</p><p>Auguste bared his teeth like an animal. “You can’t fucking stop me! As a father or a King!”</p><p>“What the fuck is wrong with you?! What do you want?!”</p><p>“I want to stay here!”</p><p>Their yelling was ringing Laurent’s ears. They looked feral, shouting at each other over the dining, the staff and guards all trying, and failing to keep their eyes ahead.</p><p>Al was still screaming. “I won’t accept this insolence in my fucking house! You’re going back to Kempt <em>tonight</em>!”</p><p>“Fuck you!” Auguste said, and Laurent couldn’t stop his gasp. “<em>I</em><em>’m staying here</em>!”</p><p>Al stood up, his chair toppling with a violent, deafening thud. “Get the fuck out of my house. Right now.”</p><p>“I’m not fucking leaving!” Auguste had stood up too, and his voice was steadily climbing, almost cracking. “I’m staying here, so you don’t ruin him for another goddamn minute!”</p><p>Laurent’s head snapped up, eyes wide, a hand coming up to cover his mouth.</p><p>Al stopped.</p><p>Auguste continued, “Just look at him! Look at what the fuck you’ve done to him, what you’ve broken him down into! If I leave, who the fuck is going to fix him? Who is he going to have?”</p><p>Auguste had gained momentum now, crowding into Al’s space, so they were chest to chest, nose to nose. “Do you have any fucking idea how much you’ve fucked up every good thing in this place? How much you’ve ruined <em>everything</em>? I need to stay so I can look after Laurent, so you can’t keep killing him. <em>Do you understand</em>?”</p><p>It was like Laurent wasn’t even in the room. He felt like he was floating, watching this outside his own body.</p><p>Al’s face was slowly losing colour, the white of his lips a thin line. “How dare you,” he said quietly, in a horrible, twisted voice.</p><p>Auguste scoffed. “Yeah. How dare I.”</p><p>With a hard knock against Al’s chest, he pushed past him, leaving in long, strong strides, his guards trailing behind in contemplative silence.</p><p>Al, who had staggered from the push, looked shell shocked. He stared after Auguste, still pale and white-lipped.</p><p>Then his eyes met Laurent’s.</p><p>Laurent turned, heart in his throat. He waited with his breath caught.</p><p>But there was nothing.</p><p>When Laurent looked up again, Al had left too.</p><p>*</p><p>Laurent couldn’t remember the last time he had gone to the south wing of the Palace.</p><p>It might have been when he had turned eight, and he and Auguste had stayed up watching… a movie. He couldn’t remember which one, though.</p><p>Laurent trailed the darkened hallway, fingertips tracing the wall, his mind fleeting between random, inconsequential memories. It all dissolved into the fight from earlier this morning: Auguste’s red, angry face, and Al’s ashy one.</p><p>It had been hours since then: the sun had set about an hour ago, and neither Auguste and Al had been present during the day.</p><p>Laurent only cared about Auguste, who hadn’t eaten all day. He was probably drinking himself to death or worse: ruining more expensive, custom clothing.</p><p>Outside Auguste’s doors, he dismissed the guards and knocked.</p><p>It was quiet. Laurent knocked again, three sharp taps.</p><p>He pressed his forehead against the cool, golden door. “Auguste? It’s me.”</p><p>He didn’t have to wait long. From the other side, a small, wavering: “Laurent?”</p><p>Laurent exhaled in relief. “Yeah, hi. Can you let me in? I want to see you.”</p><p>Truthfully, Laurent had expected to be blown off, for Auguste to tell him to fuck off in that same viscous tone. But the doors opened, and Auguste greeted him, grim and stoic.</p><p>Laurent’s chest swelled with a protectiveness he had never associated with his brother.</p><p>Auguste was in an old sleeping shirt, and pants that cut off too high above his bare ankles and feet. He smelled of liquor, but thankfully, it was faint and stale. But his face was still clouded, as though a storm had overtaken it.</p><p>Laurent cleared his throat. “Can I come in?”</p><p>Auguste tilted his head towards the expanse of his room and stepped aside.</p><p>The first thing Laurent noticed was how dark Auguste’s room was, and not just because he had drawn the thick, velvet curtains. Everything in Auguste’s room was made up of dark accents: navy, cushioned sofas, oak tables and bedhead, and a vanity that was cluttered with cologne and an empty scotch bottle.</p><p>Laurent’s room, in comparison, was more tasteful: he had two chandeliers <em>and </em>an original Monet, after all.</p><p>He could sense Auguste behind him. Following the way the beige, flowery wallpaper snaked up to the mirrored ceiling, Laurent said, “You know, I was trying to think of the last time I came here, but I couldn’t place it. It doesn’t even seem familiar now; you’ve changed a lot of it.”</p><p>“I remember,” Auguste said. “It was the night before I left for the military. You came in here crying, begging me not to go. I don’t think I even listened properly.”</p><p>Laurent frowned. “Really? I don’t —” He turned and stopped.</p><p>Auguste had dropped himself onto the chaise lounge, and he was crying silently.</p><p>Laurent had never seen Auguste cry.</p><p>The sight of it brought a lump to his throat, one he couldn’t swallow down.</p><p>“Oh, Auguste…”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Auguste said, two fat streaks running down his cheeks. “I’m sorry I left you that first time, and I’m sorry I kept leaving you. I’m sorry I didn’t come back when you needed me, and I’m sorry I let him get away with fucking you up, and that I didn’t listen properly to you, or give you time or attention. And I’m sorry I never grew up to be the kind of man you could rely on —”</p><p>“Stop it!” Laurent could hear the horror in his own voice.</p><p>Auguste buried his head in his hands, shuddering.</p><p>Laurent couldn’t even process what he had just heard. His mind was already compulsively shutting down, and his only gut instinct was to comfort Auguste.</p><p>Laurent approached Auguste with tentative steps, feet dragging across the marble.</p><p>It took effort to touch him, even when he was determined to. Once Laurent placed his hands in Auguste’s hair, and then his shoulders, Auguste sort of collapsed, his forehead resting against Laurent’s stomach.</p><p>Laurent resisted the urge to pull back, and tightened his grip.</p><p>“Shhh,” he said, “It’s okay.”</p><p>Auguste continued shuddering against him, dragging in lungfuls of air.</p><p>Laurent soothed him as best as he could, murmuring nonsense.</p><p>“God, I’m sorry,” Auguste choked. “I’m so, so, so, sorry.”</p><p>“It’s okay, I swear,” Laurent said, his own throat congested as Auguste repeated the words he had never thought he would hear. “Shh. Come on, you’re okay, it’s okay.”</p><p>Laurent wasn’t sure how much time passed between them, but eventually, slowly, Auguste calmed down. He pulled away, the cool air uncomfortable against the wet patch on Laurent’s stomach.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Auguste said. “God, what a mess.”</p><p>“Hold on,” Laurent said. He walked over to the vanity, where their mother’s handkerchief was sitting. “Here.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Auguste muttered, defeated. He wiped his eyes, and blew his nose in a very snotty manner.</p><p>Laurent stood above him, awkwardly petting his head, and then dropped a kiss to it, because it seemed appropriate.</p><p>Auguste made another choked off sound, sniffling. “Thanks,” he said, again.</p><p>When their eyes met, Laurent tried to offer a smile, but Auguste just kept looking at him with watery, red eyes.</p><p>“You didn’t have to say all that,” Laurent said softly.</p><p>“Don’t,” Auguste said. “I <em>did </em>have to say that. I should have said it all a long time ago. And I’m sorry I didn’t.”</p><p>“Auguste…” Laurent bit his lip. “Why are you doing this?”</p><p>“Doing <em>this</em>? You mean being a decent brother for once?”</p><p>“You’ve <em>always</em> been a decent —”</p><p>“Jesus. Don’t do that! No I haven’t — that’s the whole fucking point —” He broke off a frustrated grunt.</p><p>Laurent stroked Auguste’s hair again, thinking hard.</p><p>“I —” He started again. “I won’t deny that you’ve hurt me. But… that’s all in the past, Auguste. You’ve been trying lately, and I appreciate that more than you could ever know and I —” Laurent took a deep breath. “I forgive you. You don’t need to be sorry.”</p><p>“I am, though,” Auguste’s shoulders slumped. “And I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”</p><p>“Well, you have it anyway,” Laurent snapped. Then he softened his voice, “It’s your choice whether you want it or not.”</p><p>“God, of course I want it.”</p><p>Laurent smiled. “You have it.”</p><p>Auguste turned his face, wiping the handkerchief over his eyes again. He was crying again, mouth pursed.</p><p>Laurent gingerly took the seat next to him.</p><p>He waited for Auguste to calm down once more, and touched his shoulder.</p><p>“Auguste,” he began softly. “I think you should go back to Kempt.”</p><p>Auguste jerked to look at him with wide, hurt eyes.</p><p>“Don’t look at me like that.” Laurent grimaced. “I mean it.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Laurent couldn’t help his small laugh. “You’ve been back in Arles for five months, and it’s completely broken your brain. I don’t think you can handle life here in the Palace.”</p><p>Auguste swallowed.</p><p>“You’re too good for this place, Auguste. That’s why you don’t belong here. Not yet, anyway.”<br/>“What about you?”<br/><br/>“Me? What about me?”</p><p>“You don’t belong here, either. Not with him.”</p><p>Laurent hesitated. “I — maybe not. But it isn’t my time yet. It’s <em>yours. </em>You need to go, Auguste. For your own sake, and for Vere’s.”</p><p>They were quiet for a while.</p><p>“Come with me. I should have taken you with me when I was eighteen, but I can now.”</p><p>It was an enticing scenario: Laurent had never been to his mother’s country, and a life without Al was…</p><p>“You know the King wouldn’t let me. I’m still his ward. And besides,” Laurent smiled with mischief. “I’m not going to that country until it’s law for all the men to remain clean shaven.”</p><p><em>Like Alexander</em>.</p><p>Laurent squashed the thought.</p><p>Auguste laughed, though it sounded more like a hiccup. “Yeah, you’re right. I can’t imagine how traumatising it would be for you to see all those hairy upper lips.”</p><p>“Yeah, exactly. I’d die on the spot.”</p><p>Auguste sighed. “I still don’t want to leave you here.”</p><p>Laurent nodded. He didn’t want to be left alone either, but… Well. He was going to be twenty-one soon. He was going to be married off, and he would retire in a large manor with a respected Lord or nobleman.</p><p>
  <em>Or a Duke. </em>
</p><p>“I’m going to be okay. Al ignores me when you’re not here, anyway. Trust me, I can handle him.”</p><p>There were no protests. Auguste just seemed so much older than he looked, his skin sallow, his temple beaded with sweat.</p><p>“Just me promise me something.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Laurent hesitated. “Don’t drink so much.”</p><p>Auguste stiffened. Defensively, he snapped, “I’m not a bloody alcoholic.”</p><p>“I know. But you’ve been doing it a lot lately. I just… Want you to take care of yourself.”</p><p>Auguste stretched out his legs. He didn’t say anything, which was a good sign.</p><p>“We’re going to be okay,” Laurent told him. “I promise.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Auguste said after a moment. “I hope so.”</p><p>*</p><p>Laurent knew that love was complicated and fickle and hard. He had experience in it now, too.</p><p>So, it wasn’t a surprise when Auguste went back to Al a few days later to patch things up, his jaw locked with determination.</p><p>It took several days, for reasons Laurent didn’t care to understand. Laurent hadn’t even taken this long when he had packed for New York Fashion Week and that was saying a lot. Like, a <em>lot.</em></p><p>Once, Laurent had passed the Gallery Room, and saw the two of them on opposite sides of the table, speaking in low voices as Councillor Nish acted as a mediator.</p><p>“I’m not forgiving him,” Auguste told him, later that night. “And I don’t think he’ll forgive me. But we’re going to be more cooperative and communicative with each other.”</p><p>“That’s good.”</p><p>But Laurent knew it was more than that. Auguste and Al respected each other, and well, loved each other, too, he supposed. They <em>wanted</em> to be a part of each other’s lives.</p><p>Laurent didn’t know how to feel about it, so he kept quiet when he watched the two of them nod at each other at the dining table.</p><p>*</p><p>Auguste left the following Sunday, after much deliberation.</p><p>There was a small farewell lunch in his honour in the Gardens, the sun beaming down on them, despite the fact that winter was on its way now.</p><p>Auguste flitted about each group, being charming, slapping Councillors on the back, and making them with a laugh.</p><p>He hadn’t touched a single drink the entire afternoon, and Laurent was proud and emotional and quiet, keeping to himself in the corner, as everyone passed him by.</p><p>No one had come to speak with him in over two hours, and Laurent tried not be bitter over the reality of his life and social standing.</p><p>Only Auguste really paid him any attention, throwing smiles and waves at him in intervals.</p><p>Soon, he wouldn’t even have this.</p><p>When the sun set, the gathering slowly dwindled. Laurent’s heart raced as he watched the staff pack up, and the Al gestured for him to stand up.</p><p>Outside the Palace gates, Auguste hugged him so tightly, Laurent couldn’t breathe. Strangely, it was good, though.</p><p>Auguste’s breathing was erratic, but Laurent didn’t mind.</p><p>Into Auguste’s ears, Laurent said, “Don’t come back until you’re ready to be my King.”</p><p>Auguste’s throat hitched. When he let Laurent go, he touched his shoulder and kissed his forehead.</p><p>Al stepped forward. Laurent watched the staff hurl Auguste’s luggage in the back of a small van as his father and brother hugged.</p><p>Auguste walked down the Palace steps, turning back at the gates to lift his hand.</p><p>Laurent waved back, consciously trying to keep the smile on his face.</p><p>As Auguste’s limousine sped off, Laurent turned just in time to see Al wipe his eyes.</p><p>His mouth dropped open, and when Al realised, he stiffened.</p><p>Laurent quickly walked past him, pretending he hadn’t seen anything. He kept walking and walking.</p><p>He made three whole rounds of the grounds before he went to his room, locking the door behind him. He leant against it, trying not to think of Auguste.</p><p>The quiet was unbearable. How had he lived like this for almost twenty years?</p><p>Grabbing his mother’s comb from the special container he had designed for it, he settled himself under the silk bedsheets, letting the tears finally come.</p><p>His mother’s comb was cool in his hands, and before Laurent could talk him out of it, he was dialling Damianos’ number.</p><p>“Hey, this is a nice surprise,” Damianos said, and god, how had Laurent though that the Duke’s voice was better than this?</p><p>He closed his eyes, the wet patch under his cheek growing.</p><p>“Hey,” he said, and he knew Damianos had heard his congested syllables, his unsteady breathing, because there was a small noise of concern. “I’m sad. Tell me something funny that happened to you today.”</p><p>“I can do that,” Damianos said.</p><p>Laurent sniffed, and then settled into warmth.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. The Duke.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The moment Laurent woke up, he knew something was wrong.</p><p>He hadn’t drawn his curtains last night, so the light from the ceiling-to-floor windows was both blinding and disorientating.</p><p>But that wasn’t what had jerked him awake; it was the sound of deep, slow breathing, right into his ear, as though someone was draped over him, mouth pressed to the side of his head.</p><p>For a second, there was only panic, and Laurent almost called in Jord and Lazar to apprehend the intruder that had clearly somehow snuck into his room. And then his mind quietened, and he realised that his phone was still against his ear.</p><p>Slowly, Laurent picked it up, blinking blearily at the screen, and realised that he had never hung up on Damianos. And Damianos had never hung up on <em>him. </em>They had fallen asleep in the middle of talking to each other.</p><p>They were now eight hours and fourteen minutes into a call, and Laurent realised the sound he had heard was <em>Damianos</em><em>’</em> breathing. He had obviously fallen asleep, just like Laurent had, sometime during their phone call.</p><p>“Hello?” Laurent whispered.</p><p>When there was no response, Laurent tried again. “Hey. Hello. Damianos. Um. Your Majesty?”</p><p>Damianos didn’t stir. He made a small sigh, and Laurent bit his lip to contain his smile, a sudden burst of warmth settling into his stomach.</p><p>Laurent rolled onto his back, placing his phone on his chest. With the sun on his face, he tried to think of what he should do.</p><p>The first, logical thing to do was to just end the call, obviously. But they were eight hours in, and surely that must have been some sort of world record? Laurent couldn’t jeopardise that! He had never gotten a world record before, but they were clearly Big Deals. And sharing one with Damianos was… well, it would be a nice addition to that too.</p><p>He tried again, just in case Damianos didn’t want a world record.</p><p>“Hey, Damianos.”</p><p>There was another soft sigh, and Laurent suddenly, desperately wished he could see what Damianos looked like right now, sleeping peacefully. Was Jo next to him? Were they <em>snuggling</em>? Were they <em>naked</em>?</p><p>Oh god, what if they were snuggling naked?</p><p>The thought was so terrible, Laurent almost ended the call.</p><p>Then Damianos made a sweet hiccup-like sound, and he melted into his sheets.</p><p>Eventually, Laurent started getting ready for the day, even though it was just past noon. Al hadn’t even called him in for breakfast — which Laurent was thankful for, obviously — but the entire thing was uncharacteristic of the King.</p><p>He sat at his vanity, his phone flipped up so he could keep an eye on the screen.</p><p>He used his mother’s comb to brush his hair, even though the teeth were too stiff to properly part his hair.</p><p>When he finished, the time of the phone call now read nine hours and six minutes. That world record was inching closer.</p><p>Laurent decided to skip lunch: seeing Al on the other side of the table without Auguste as a safe buffer seemed especially inconceivable today.</p><p>Instead, Laurent decided to go riding. It was going to be winter soon, and it was only going to get harder to convince Shakespeare to come out of his stables.</p><p>Laurent ended up riding further than he initially intended to, all the way up to the same cliff he had taken to Damianos on that last morning.</p><p>Laurent sat cross legged on the edge, watching the sky, shivering a little as cool air brushed against his skin. He sat there for several minutes, and then an hour. And then an hour and a few more minutes. Just watching the sky in silence like this was a scene from some sort of coming of age teen movie.</p><p>He was thinking of Auguste, and whether he was feeling better in Kempt, without him. He wondered if he should call. Or maybe Auguste would call? Although, Laurent couldn’t remember a time when Auguste had ever called first. So maybe he should…</p><p>“Laurent?”</p><p>Laurent froze, the hairs on his nape standing up. He looked around, saw nothing, and then peered at the sky.</p><p>“…God?”</p><p>“Hey, Laurent? You awake?”<br/>Laurent jumped. Then he realised that the sound was coming from his blazer pocket.</p><p>Pulling out his phone, Laurent tentatively said, “Damianos?”</p><p>Damianos chuckled warmly. “Yeah, it’s me, sweetheart.”</p><p>Laurent sucked in a breath, his gasp almost closing up his throat.</p><p>“Shit,” Damianos said, and his voice was much different now, panicked and alert. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to — I just woke up. My brain’s all loopy. I’m sorry. Again. Uh. Hi. Good morning. How are you?”</p><p>Laurent felt dizzy and coy all at once.</p><p>“It’s not morning here,” he said eventually. “I think it’s close to two.”</p><p>“Oh, right. It’s close to six here. I jus’ woke up and I—” Damianos yawned. “Shit, I’m tired.” He laughed, and out here, it sounded like it was just the two of them. “What are you up to right now, sweetheart?”</p><p>Laurent might have said, “Eep!” but at this point, he was so lightheaded, he wasn’t sure.</p><p>There was a pause.</p><p>“…Did I say it again?”</p><p>Damianos seemed so disturbed by the notion of calling Laurent any sort of pet name, Laurent decided to end his misery.</p><p>“I’ve been out riding. Nothing interesting.” Laurent threw Shakespeare a small<em> sorry</em>!, and was met with an unamused huff. He cleared his throat. “You didn’t hang up last night.”</p><p>He didn’t mean to say it so shyly, but it felt like they were sharing some sort secret.</p><p>“You didn’t either,” Damianos’ voice was fond. “We’re going on —” A rustle. “Holy shit, more than eleven hours! Is that a record? It’s definitely a record, right? Should we contact someone about this?”</p><p>Laurent nodded, throat tight.</p><p>“Who fell asleep first, by the way? The last proper conversation I remember was about what you’re going to name the ten cats and thirteen dogs you’ll eventually adopt.”</p><p>“If you fell asleep during that, I’m going to be very mad at you,” Laurent said, though his warning was probably not very threatening since he sounded like he was hacking up a furball.</p><p>“Are you kidding me?” Damianos was outraged. “You think I fell asleep during the naming of Christian, Dior, Louis, Saint, Chanel, Herm, Gilliana, Percival, Montgomery, Montgomery Junior —”</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Laurent said, breathless. He was laughing deliriously on the inside. “Point proven. I — thank you for listening to all that nonsense.”</p><p>“Not nonsense,” Damianos said. “I had a good time. I always have a good time with you.”</p><p>Laurent cast his eyes upward.</p><p>“Anyway.” Damianos must have picked up on the silence. “I think you definitely fell asleep first. I think I started talking about the new Palace renovations and after a while you stopped making suggestions on what kind of faucets the new bathrooms should get.”</p><p>“Ah, yes, I remember now. I definitely fell asleep first. I concede defeat, Your Majesty. ”</p><p>But Damianos kept talking. He was contemplative, soft, “I could hear you breathing. It was so… like you were right next to me.”</p><p>Laurent clenched his fists so tight he knew there going to be four red crescent shaped discs seared into his palm.</p><p>“Ah. I guess this is my roundabout way of saying I…” Damianos paused, then cleared his throat noisily. “I miss you more than I realised.”</p><p>If it weren’t for the world record, Laurent would have smashed his phone right there and then.</p><p>And well. He was on level three thousand and twelve on Candy Crush.</p><p>“Was that too much?” Because of course Damianos knew him, and knew how severely emotionally constipated he was. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”</p><p>“You didn’t. You never do.” Laurent focused his eyes on the strip of blue on the horizon, the ocean that was keeping them apart. “I miss you too. So much. Always.”</p><p>When the silence came this time, Laurent realised he had gone too far. He opened his mouth again to backtrack.</p><p>And then Damianos said, “Me too. So much. Always.”</p><p>*</p><p>It was probably a good thing Laurent didn’t have any social media, or any current men who he was interested in, because they were now sixteen hours into their phone call, and he had no intention of ever using his phone to do anything other than talk to Damianos.</p><p>Not that they were talking or anything: after Damianos had gotten ready for the day, they had just left themselves on speaker, as the day had played all around them.</p><p>So far, Damianos had gone to three different meetings, a lunch with the Prime Minister, and some sort of public event at a primary school.</p><p>Laurent, meanwhile, had had a snack, braided Shakespeare’s mane, and watched <em>The Princess Bride </em>for the hundredth time.</p><p>(He was still kind of invested in <em>The Prince Groom</em>, actually).</p><p>Laurent was thinking of calling it an early night when he was summoned to dinner with Al.</p><p>Jacob kept his eyes above Laurent’s shoulders as he said, “And, uh, the King has requested you dress… appropriately.”</p><p>“Shit,” Laurent muttered.</p><p>That meant they were dining with <em>guests</em>. If Torveld was sitting with them, Laurent was going to need an amazing lawyer who could justify the murder.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>Laurent glanced down at his pocket with a sigh. “It’s nothing. I’m just going to dinner with the King and the King’s guest. Oh, god. I hope it’s not Torveld.”</p><p>“Me too,” Damianos said. “I had to physically scrub my brain out every time I had a conversation with that man.”</p><p>Laurent let out a small laugh.</p><p>“I have to change. Er. Is it weird to change in front of you?” Laurent blushed as he said it.</p><p>“Um.” Damianos’ throat clicked. “I can’t see anything, you know.”</p><p>“Oh, right,” Laurent nodded. “I — yes. So. I’m going to change. You just keep on doing what you’re doing. What are you doing by the way?”</p><p>“Ah. I’m on a smoke break.”</p><p>Laurent frowned. “I wished you wouldn’t smoke. Your teeth are very attractive. They’d look horrible if they were to discolour.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Laurent’s eyes widened. “Um. Not that I’m — You can do whatever you want with your body. And that includes your teeth, too. Sorry. I’m going to change now.”</p><p>“Okay,” Damianos said faintly.</p><p>Laurent realised he had made a crucial mistake. In letting Damianos know that he was changing, something in the air had changed, and it had become stifling.</p><p>He could hear every drag Damianos took. He could hear every exhale as well.</p><p>Damianos’ breathing was the only sound in the room as Laurent pulled off his trousers and shirt. It felt illicit to stand almost naked in his room, knowing that Damianos knew he was changing.</p><p>Laurent had never dressed so quickly in his life.</p><p>As Laurent finished buttoning up the pearl buttons on his wrist, he said, “Um. I’m done.”</p><p>Damianos exhaled again. Laurent scrunched his nose, even though he couldn’t smell any smoke.</p><p>When Damianos didn’t say anything for the next few minutes, Laurent said, “Hello?”</p><p>“Oh! Sorry,” Damianos cleared his throat noisily — he was doing that a lot lately. Laurent wondered if it was from the smoking or something more insidious. Perhaps he had been poisoned? Or had eaten something particularly greasy? “I drifted off for a second.”</p><p>“What were you thinking about?”</p><p>Laurent expected Damianos to say something vaguely political and boring, or even <em>Jo. </em>He was, therefore, wholly unprepared for when Damianos said, “You.”</p><p>Laurent stilled. “What about me?”</p><p>Damianos <em>hmm</em>ed. “Nothing in particular. Just you. You know, in general.”</p><p>In the mirror, Laurent could see how shocked he looked, his eyes wide and cheeks pink. “I —”</p><p>There was a loud knock. Through the door, Jord’s voice came, muffled. “Your Highness, the King has requested that we escort you to the Formal China Room immediately.”</p><p>“Yes. Alright.” Laurent called back. He pocketed his phone once more. “Hey, I have to go —”</p><p>“Oh. Should I hang up or —”</p><p>“No! I just meant I have to go to dinner so I won’t be able to talk to you for a while. Is that cool?”</p><p>Damianos laughed. “Of course it is. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be here, chilling.”</p><p>Laurent snorted. Damianos was definitely not going to sit tight and <em>chill</em>. The next thing on his agenda was probably something like ‘single-handedly discover a cure for a new disease while wearing a tight shirt.’</p><p>Laurent didn’t know why he didn’t expect it, but he was genuinely surprised when in the Formal China Room, the Duke was sitting to the left of the King.</p><p>It was the seat Auguste usually took, and Laurent was shocked with the way his skin prickled in discomfort.</p><p>Then the Duke turned to him and beamed, like he had been waiting for Laurent’s presence.</p><p>Laurent’s skin flushed with warmth this time.</p><p>It was just… nice to be <em>looked </em>at like that for the first time in a while. Before Damianos, Laurent couldn’t remember his last, proper romantic conquest. It had probably been depressingly short anyway.</p><p>“Your Highness,” the Duke was standing up to approach him. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”</p><p>“Yes, you too,” Laurent said, nodding. “Your Grace,” he added hastily, as Al’s flat gaze swept over them.</p><p>The Duke reached for his hand, and Laurent pretended not to notice, darting past him to take the seat opposite, to the right of Al.</p><p>Laurent was glad when Al dismissed him from being part of most of the conversations floating around the table in the beginning. When he spoke, he only addressed the Duke, who seemed pleased and honoured to have the King’s attention. He probably would have been less honoured if he knew how little Al cared for Laurent’s opinions in general.</p><p>Laurent played with his food, wondering if Damianos could hear the current discussion on Kemptian taxes, and whether this was technically treason.</p><p>He looked up a while later, and realised that Al and the Duke were staring at him.</p><p>Laurent said, “What?”</p><p>Al sighed, irritated. “I said I am leaving now. You’ll be fine keeping Alexander company, yes.”</p><p>The way he said it, it was obvious it wasn’t a question. Laurent almost said, <em>who</em>? Then he quickly straightened himself and said, “Oh. Uh. Sure. But… I could leave instead?”</p><p>Frostily, Al said, “No. I think it’s best if you stay.”</p><p>The Duke stood up to shake Al’s hand as he left. Laurent wasn’t even spared a glance.</p><p>Traditionally, all meals stopped after the King departed. The Duke clearly knew this rule, because he paused, eyes flicking to Laurent.</p><p>Laurent shoved more pasta into his mouth, uncaring and unbothered. He desperately wanted to leave.</p><p>There was silence for a few long-drawn moments, and then the Duke gave him another one of those beautiful, blinding smiles.</p><p>Laurent dropped his fork, then ducked his head to retrieve it.</p><p>The Duke said, “Well, I’m glad I ended up getting my wish.”</p><p>“Your wish?”</p><p>“My wish to have dinner with you.”</p><p>There was a strangled cough from Laurent’s pocket.</p><p>The Duke’s eyes went to the staff lined up the wall and then again to Laurent.</p><p>“Oh.” Laurent tried to keep his face from warming as he thought of the conversation in the stable almost two weeks ago. “Hmm.”</p><p>“You look especially beautiful tonight.”</p><p>More coughing.</p><p>“Oh, thank you,” Laurent said quickly. “I’ve been using a new moisturiser lately, it’s got a rare fruit from Ver-Kindt that’s <em>technically </em>illegal in Vere, but I got it imported through some bylaws that actually might need some revie—”</p><p>“I think it’s your shirt.” The Duke cut in neatly, rearranging the napkin on his lap. “It brings out your eyes.”</p><p>Laurent nodded. “Yes, I know. It’s why I wore it.”</p><p>The Duke’s eyebrows furrowed, and his lovely mouth pinched.</p><p>Laurent recognised that look: most men adopted it when he complimented himself, because in his experience, most men didn’t like it when he complimented himself. But if Laurent didn’t compliment himself, then no one would. And he couldn’t take the chance that Jord and Lazar would; they didn’t even know the difference between emerald and forest green!</p><p>“I mean,” Laurent said, now. “Thank you.”</p><p>The Duke smiled at him again.</p><p>Laurent managed a hesitant smile in return, and then discreetly gestured for someone to pour him wine.</p><p>The Duke cut into his steak. “You know, I had a wonderful conversation with the King today about the Marches-Trollian Treaty.”</p><p>Oh god. They were really going to talk about <em>politics</em>. Politics!</p><p>Laurent chugged down more wine and braced himself.</p><p>*</p><p>Laurent fell onto his bed with a sigh some hours later, the room spinning pleasantly.</p><p>He wasn’t quite drunk, but tipsy enough to feel drowsy and wonderful.</p><p>Dinner with the Duke — which sounded like some sort of Disney movie involving anthropomorphic animals — had been relatively harmless. Laurent couldn’t remember much of it, in all honestly.</p><p>Something about handsome men giving him disapproving glances tended to make Laurent nervous, and he had drunk more than he had intended to.</p><p>Fortunately, dinner had been cut short when one of the Duke’s assistants had called him in for an urgent call.</p><p>“Excuse me, Your Highness,” he had said, and then had leaned forward to kiss Laurent’s cheek.</p><p>Laurent had pulled back, and spilled his wine onto the white linen table runner.</p><p>It had been a pretty fitting way to end the night.</p><p>“Laurent?”</p><p>Laurent smiled, staring at himself in the mirror on the ceiling. “You’re still awake, Your Majesty?”</p><p>“It’s still afternoon here.”</p><p>“Oh.” Laurent thought about it. “Time is crazy. Like, you’re seeing the sun right now, yeah? But the sun went home here. Like, he — or she — or they — packed up their bags and went to you instead.”</p><p>“Went home,” Damianos sounded amused and fond. “I like hearing you talk.”</p><p>“Well, I like you.”</p><p>Damen paused. “Are you drunk, Laurent?”</p><p>“Oh, no, not at all. Like, I’m definitely getting there.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Damen said. “I think you should go to sleep.”</p><p>“Oh, sure, definitely.” Laurent nodded. “But I’m not wearing my pyjamas. I can’t sleep unless I wear them.”</p><p>“Then change.”</p><p>Laurent shifted, sucking in a breath. Damianos was using his hot, commanding voice.</p><p>“In front of you?” Laurent’s voice came out unintentionally breathy.</p><p>Damianos’ tone suddenly changed. “No, don’t do that. Just try and get some sleep. You can yell at me about your ruined clothes in the morning, I promise.”</p><p>“Hmm ‘kay,” Laurent closed his eyes.</p><p>He was almost asleep, when Damianos’ voice floated through the air.</p><p>“Who were you having dinner with, Laurent?”</p><p>“The Duke of Kempt,” Laurent yawned. “You met him?”</p><p>“No.” After a long pause, Damianos said in a quiet voice, “He made you laugh a lot.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>Laurent couldn’t remember laughing. He drifted off before he could say anything else.</p><p>*</p><p>The next morning, Laurent woke up to his usual home screen and one notification from Damianos.</p><p>
  <em>Sorry I had to disconnect the call jo was calling she called nik four times bc she couldnt reach me lol</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We still 100% got that world record tho dont worry</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Like we must have right??? I think it was more than 20 hours!!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>PS are your clothes ruined?? (dont hate me if they are)</em>
</p><p>Laurent rolled onto his back, head aching, eyes swimming.</p><p>*</p><p>Over the next month and a half, the Duke seemed to be a permanent fixture in the Palace.</p><p>By now, Laurent knew his entire schedule. Every Friday morning, he would have breakfast with him and Al in in the Formal China Room, and on Sunday night, he would leave, driving <em>himself </em>to the airport.</p><p>Laurent didn’t know a single royal that drove themselves around on errands, and it kind of turned him on for reasons he didn’t want to get into.</p><p>Laurent also didn’t know what the Duke did in Arles, besides hang off Al like a… thing that hung off other things. If he wasn’t in meetings with Al, then he was having meals with him, or drinking with him, or drinking <em>and </em>smoking cigars.</p><p>Once, Laurent had even see them playing pool in the Billiard Room. Pool! Seeing Al bent over a table with a large… stick was not something Laurent had <em>ever</em> wanted to see — much less at ten in the morning!</p><p>He had had to scrub his eyes out in the <em>guest</em> bathroom like a… well, like a guest.</p><p>(Although seeing the Duke in the same position as he walked back down the hallway had <em>almost </em>made up for it).</p><p>Besides being Al’s best friend, the Duke also spent a lot of time running around the Palace grounds shirtless, hardly breaking a sweat.</p><p>From Friday to Sunday, Laurent managed to be a proper, productive morning person — and it had nothing to do with the fact that at exactly seven, the Duke ran past his window, broad shoulders still tan in the weak, wintery sun.</p><p>He really was one of the most beautiful men — ‘one of’, because Laurent still existed — and that alone made up for him being Al’s friend.</p><p>Well, that and… well, the Duke was a legitimately nice and interesting person. He was incredibly intelligent, too: he knew six languages, had graduated college at eighteen, and knew the difference between satin and silk. Whenever he spoke, everyone in the room listened. Laurent had seen three Council men drool while the Duke had given a speech on farming laws in Kempt.</p><p>So, it was honestly, genuinely flattering that when the Duke wasn’t with Al, or the various Council members who lusted over him, he was trying to get Laurent’s full attention.</p><p>It wasn’t quite courting, because the Duke seemed to be a man of his word, but it was similar enough to leave Laurent warm and blushing every time.</p><p>He left small, wrapped gifts for Laurent every Friday night without fail — watches, ties and once, a small green plant in a pot that Laurent had immediately given to Lazar because he wasn’t some <em>farmer</em> — and he seemed intent on walking Laurent to and from meetings.</p><p>The only issue with that was that Laurent was banned from most meetings, so it was awkward to shoo the Duke away whenever he approached him.</p><p>Now, while half the Palace officials were in a meeting, Laurent stood on top of a wooden stool in the stables, braiding Shakespeare’s mane.</p><p>“I think I’m getting better,” Laurent said, trailing his fingers over the uneven braid. “What do you think?”</p><p>Shakespeare huffed, nudging Laurent’s hand for a carrot.</p><p>“You are incredibly spoilt, mister.”</p><p>He parted Shakespeare’s mane again, going in for the fourth braid.</p><p>He looked up when he finished — this one was even wonkier — and saw the Duke jogging by, even though he was in a suit and not his usual workout gear. (Although ‘gear’ was a generous term since he was always half naked).</p><p>“Hey,” the Duke said, and beamed when Laurent smiled at him. “Do you need me to move the oats from the doorway? It’s going to end up blocking your way out.”</p><p>“Oh,” Laurent said, “No, it’s fine, the stable hand usually just — I mean it’s really heavy, you need at least two people to —”</p><p>“I got it.”</p><p>The Duke bent down at the waist and then effortlessly hauled the huge sack over his shoulder without even blinking.</p><p>“Eep!” said Laurent, eyes wide.</p><p>“I’ll see you,” the Duke said, with another devastating smile, carrying the unopened sack of oats to the facility barn.</p><p>“Oh my god,” Laurent pressed his face to Shakespeare’s mane. “Help.”</p><p>Shakespeare whinnied.</p><p>*</p><p>Later, well into the night, Al and Laurent stood at the Palace gates, waving goodbye to the Duke’s retreating Lamborghini. It wasn’t a red one, but yellow was a suitable second choice, Laurent supposed.</p><p>As the gates closed off, Al said, “Do you honestly think you can do better, Laurent?”</p><p>“Better?” Laurent frowned, confused. “Better at…” He trailed off, because he had no idea what Al meant.</p><p>Al’s jaw clenched. “Do you think you can have someone better than Alexander? Because your track record has proven otherwise.”</p><p>Laurent fisted his hands behind his back, stomach rolling.</p><p>“I suggest you settle down with the Duke, who for reasons beyond me, has taken a liking to you. Otherwise, you can…” Al gave him a pointed look.</p><p>Laurent supposed the end of the sentence was going to be something like <em>Otherwise, you can sit quietly while I ruin your life. </em>Or even <em>Otherwise, you can go to New York Fashion Week and have fun. </em></p><p>Honestly, if Al had said that last line, Laurent would have proof there <em>was </em>an alternative timeline.</p><p>“For god’s sake Laurent, <em>respond </em>when I talk to you. Is that so much to ask?”</p><p>“No,” Laurent said. “I understand, Your Majesty.”</p><p>His response made Al shrewd. But, after a moment, he walked back inside, leaving Laurent in the cold.</p><p>*</p><p>Once winter had completely settled in Arles, several weeks later, Laurent and Al, and about a dozen Council members, took their annual trip to Heston’s estate to discuss various issues within Vere.</p><p>It was the worst trip Laurent took every year, and the most boring. Heston’s spreads were always lacklustre, and he never shut up about his throbbing knee. The word <em>throbbing </em>was now Laurent’s most hated word for a reason.</p><p>Laurent was usually left alone to smoke weed with the guards, but this year, without Auguste, he was expected to take on more responsibility.</p><p>That meant Laurent was going to be giving the presentation on water irrigation. So, hurrah. He hoped he died of boredom halfway through it.</p><p>Al was irritated over the fact that Laurent was speaking at all. Laurent had only been allowed to because Herode had brought it up during a weekly Council meeting, and he had been backed up by Radel, Vannes, and Alice. Al had begrudgingly accepted it, probably so people wouldn’t assume he was a tyrant, like his great-great-great uncle had been for a brief amount of time during his reign.</p><p>The gathering at Heston’s concerned Veretian affairs and Veretian matters, so Laurent was shocked to see the Duke standing in the lawn of Heston’s garden, peering out at the view.</p><p>“Um,” Laurent said. “Why is someone from <em>Kempt</em> here?”</p><p>“Laurent.” Al hissed. “<em>Behave</em>.”</p><p>“But — isn’t this against some law? Are we going to spy on Kemptian meetings?”</p><p>“He’s not a bloody spy — You know what, I’m not even going to bloody entertain any of your nonsense today.”</p><p>Al had said <em>bloody </em>twice in one breath. Laurent tried to remember how bad of a sign that was.</p><p>The Duke was making his way towards them.</p><p>Laurent’s nose scrunched as he watched him smile — with teeth! — at Al, shaking his hand and slapping him on the back like they were <em>bros</em>. It sickened Laurent.</p><p>Towards the end of his trip, Damianos had looked like he was seconds away from decking Al in the face every time they were in the same room. That had made Laurent uncomfortable too; no matter how… er, stilted, his and Al’s relationship was, he didn’t want the man <em>hurt, </em>but this jovial friendliness was more off-putting.</p><p>Laurent refused to believe Al was interesting enough to get back slaps.</p><p>When the Duke reached for his hand, Laurent put them behind his back and nodded. “It’s… good to see you… here.”</p><p>The Duke let out a small chuckle. “Ah, yes, I know it’s quite unconventional for me to be here, but when the King invited me, I couldn’t refuse.”</p><p>So, <em>Al </em>was the spy. Oh, god, no — as if Al would ever be that cool. He was just a boring guy who had technically committed treason.</p><p>“Well, perhaps, you shouldn’t impress me so much at meetings.” Al chuckled too. “I practically had no choice.”</p><p>Laurent watched on, repulsed and amazed all at once. How was it that <em>Al </em>had more chemistry with the Duke than he did with Laurent? Ugh. He genuinely felt like a third wheel, which was such a disgusting thought, Laurent had to mask his sound of disgust with a coughing fit. A subtle one, so Al wouldn’t get mad.</p><p>As they walked to the Chambers, Al was mad at Laurent, anyway. Laurent knew because the vein in the centre of his forehead was pulsing.</p><p>“Do you know how incredibly spoilt and rude you look when you refuse to shake hands with noblemen?” Al hissed in one long breath.</p><p>Laurent’s mouth turned, stomach threatening to heave everything he had just eaten. “I —”</p><p>“If Alexander wants to shake your bloody hand, then you bloody <em>let him</em>. Do you understand, Laurent?”</p><p>“Yes,” Laurent muttered. Again, with the two <em>bloody</em>s. It was definitely a Bad sign. With a capital B.</p><p>Still, Laurent kept his hands pressed to the outside of his thighs, keeping himself small in his seat until it was time to present. He even managed to return Herode’s thumbs up right before he started.</p><p>Later, in the courtyard, Laurent’s meal was interrupted by all the Council women perching themselves around him, like a swarm of insects. Was that sexist? Was there a negative connotation between insects and women?</p><p>“Hello, Your Highness,” Vannes said, “We all enjoyed your presentation today. <em>Some</em> more than others.”</p><p>“Thank you!” Laurent beamed. “Honestly, it was so boring, but I think I did alright with the private versus public sec—”</p><p>“Oh, yes, fascinating stuff,” Lady Alice waved him off. “Even though my attention wavered during some parts, <em>someone </em>was still very interested throughout.”</p><p>Laurent frowned. “What part made you — Actually, I’m not going to bother.”</p><p>Lady Alice looked at Vannes, who looked at Lady Roselyn, who was looking at Lady Rebecca. Then they switched. </p><p>Laurent turned back to his plate, because it was obvious that whatever they were telepathically talking about didn’t involve him.</p><p>“Well, the Duke certainly seemed interested in all the reforms,” Vannes said eventually with a smirk, eyes alight.</p><p>“Hmm,” said Laurent, not really paying attention.</p><p>“Yes, it’s a wonder how he managed to be <em>so </em>attentive during the meeting,” Lady Alice said with the same expression Vannes wore. </p><p>“Hmm,” said Laurent, not really paying attention.</p><p>But he soon realised he had missed something important, because around the table, there were several titters, and all the women were staring at him with knowing smiles and narrowed eyes. </p><p>“What? Do I have sauce on my face?” He scrubbed at his chin, then remembered he was in public, and quickly reached for a napkin.</p><p>“<em>Honestly,</em><em>” </em>Vannes said. “We’re talking about you and the Duke.” </p><p>“What Duke?” </p><p>Lady Alice made an impatient noise. “Duke Alexander. The same man who couldn’t keep his eyes off you during the meeting.” </p><p>Laurent frowned. “You mean while I was giving my presentation? Yes, well, I suppose it would have been incredibly rude if he <em>hadn</em><em>’t </em>looked at me then.” </p><p>Vannes threw her arms in the air. “I give up.” </p><p>“He’ll be more susceptible once he’s had dessert,” Lady Roselyn piped up, and everyone nodded in agreement. “We’ll try telling him then.” </p><p>Laurent frowned again. He was suddenly oddly glad he wasn’t attracted to women.</p><p>When Laurent had finished half his cake — vanilla with vanilla frosting, because Heston was still a <em>cretin </em>who didn’t seem to realise chocolate had been invented — Lady Roselyn said, “Your Highness, we think you should date Duke Alexander.”</p><p>Laurent cast her a wary look. “Did Al put you up to this?”</p><p>“No! Cupid did!”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“Cupid! The little thing with the wings — never mind. Your Highness,” she leaned forward excitedly. “He’s <em>so </em>into you. He’s been telling everyone how beautiful he finds you.”</p><p>That garnered Laurent’s interest. “Really?”</p><p>“Yes! He wants to ask you out on a date but apparently you told him <em>no</em>.”</p><p>Four expressions of disbelief turned to him.</p><p>“Well —” Laurent floundered. “Well. Because. I was with Damianos and he —”</p><p>“Oh, you and the King are old news!”</p><p>“…We are?”</p><p>“Yes, without a doubt! He’s already seeing that politician isn’t he? It’s time for you to move on too!”</p><p>Laurent paused.</p><p>“Do you really think so?”</p><p>“Yes! You don’t want to spend the rest of your life pining after one man, right?”</p><p>“I —” Laurent swallowed. “But the Duke is… I mean he’s friends with <em>Al</em>.”</p><p>“So?”</p><p>This was exactly what he had tried to explain to Damianos, all those months ago. People <em>liked</em> Al, and they thought he was a good King. Laurent’s antagonism with him was something nobody really understood.</p><p>“Well, I —”</p><p>Vannes piped up, “Have you seen him shirtless?”</p><p>“Or fencing?”</p><p>“Or riding?”</p><p>“He speaks six languages you know.”</p><p>“<em>And </em>he has a PhD.”</p><p>“I heard he’s getting another one.”</p><p>“He also paints.”</p><p>“<em>Shirtless</em>.”</p><p>“He’s a real catch, Your Highness.”</p><p>“No, he’s <em>perfect</em>.”</p><p>“You literally can’t do better.”</p><p>Laurent winced.</p><p>There was a very awkward silence.</p><p>“I’m going to go,” Laurent said, standing up, “I have to go yell at Heston about this cake.”</p><p>*</p><p>Laurent knew sending drunk texts was like, the second or third most cliche thing people did in movies — besides running through airports and using voiceover narration — but his brain was currently telling him it was a good idea.</p><p>L:<em> do you think im good enough to date</em></p><p>D:<em> Date who?</em></p><p>L:<em> idk date in general. Like would people want to daye me</em></p><p>D: <em>Yes of course!!</em></p><p>D: <em>Are you okay</em></p><p>L: <em>yes!</em></p><p>L: <em>thanks</em></p><p>D: <em>Can I call you?</em></p><p>L: <em>no</em></p><p>L: <em>sorry that waqs rude</em></p><p>L: <em>just not in the modd to talk sorry</em></p><p>D: <em>Don</em><em>’t apologize</em></p><p>L: <em>okay I wont </em></p><p>L: <em>also thank you again for alwaus listening to my bullshit lol</em></p><p>D: <em>Its not bullshit to me</em></p><p>D: <em>Im here for you, always</em></p><p>Laurent left him on read, because he knew the truth.</p><p>*</p><p>Two days later, after the meetings, and before the Duke could hang out arm in arm with Al and Heston, Laurent approached him, heart thudding against his throat.</p><p>He had made sure to spend as much time as he could getting ready this morning. He had even woken up before the sun to make sure he had enough time to exfoliate, moisturise and brush his hair.</p><p>He knew he looked good — well, obviously, better than that — because now that he was paying attention to the way the Duke was looking at him, it was obvious that the Duke couldn’t keep his eyes off of him.</p><p>“Hey,” Laurent said, “Do you have a minute?”</p><p>“Of course, Your Highness,” the Duke said, his eyes tracking over random points on Laurent’s body.</p><p>“Call me Laurent.” Laurent gave him his most flirtatious smile. “Do you want to go have dinner with me right now?”</p><p>“…Dinner? Now? At three in the afternoon?”</p><p>Laurent was not going to let his own stupidity win this.</p><p>“Well, better now than never, right?”</p><p>This seemed to appease the Duke. He straightened, pushing back his hair. “You’re right. Let’s go. I know a place.”</p><p>For once, Laurent was not worried about leaving an engagement early. He followed the Duke outside, where he gave curt instructions to Laurent’s driver, before they went in their separate cars.</p><p>The restaurant the Duke picked out was not something Laurent would have chosen: it was dark, cramped, and there was an open bar at the end of the aisle. But there were roses lining the walls, and tear shaped lights that made the whole place seem romantic, whimsical.</p><p>It occurred to Laurent that he really was doing this, that he was going on a date for the first time in a depressingly long time.</p><p>The Duke didn’t let Laurent choose their seats, and he waved off the menu, ordering for Laurent without asking.</p><p>Laurent didn’t mind; his nerves were frayed, and speaking felt like an insurmountable task.</p><p>The Duke said bashfully, “I really can’t believe we’re doing this.”</p><p>Laurent had to choke back his laugh because he feared it would sound delirious. “Yes, I, me too. Actually, at first, I was kind of —”</p><p>The Duke grabbed his hands. Laurent gasped, tried to pull away, but the Duke held on, steady, smiling over at him.</p><p>“I love your hands,” he said. “They’re the first thing I noticed about you.”</p><p>Laurent relaxed a fraction. “Love?” he repeated, going red. Then he frowned. “Is it because I punched Auguste?”</p><p>“No,” the Duke laughed. “You use them a lot when you talk. I love it.”</p><p>There it was again!</p><p>Laurent stared on in wonder as the Duke bent his head and pressed a kiss to Laurent’s knuckle. Even as Laurent’s entire body went rigid, he made himself not pull away. When the Duke let go, his hands were shaking, and he folded them neatly in his lap.</p><p>The Duke had ordered a roast for Laurent that was delicious, and throughout the meal, Laurent waited, and waited, for the Duke to ask him questions, but he didn’t.</p><p>Instead Laurent sat quietly and listened to story after story, and found himself to be good at it.</p><p>It was also a relief to know that the Duke wasn’t perfect, like everyone else had claimed. He was extremely self-absorbed, but that only made Laurent relax around him. It was easier to be with a flawed human than a perfect one, after all.</p><p>Outside the restaurant, on the street, the Duke took Laurent’s hands again and squeezed.</p><p>Then he carded thick fingers through Laurent’s hair, until they settled on his nape, and kissed him.</p><p>It was a very nice kiss — amazing even. Easily in the top five kisses Laurent had ever had.</p><p>And if he spent the entire kiss thinking about another man — well, then, that was just one of <em>his</em> flaws.</p>
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